1 


. 

!  iM!!!?!!'!!!!!'1 


"  Permit  me  to  introduce  an  old  friend."     Page  37 


THE 

BLACK  BAG 


BY 

LOUIS  JOSEPH  VANCE 

Author  of  "  The  Brass  Bowl,"  "  The  Romance  of 
Terence  O'Rourfce,"  etc. 


With  Illustrations  by 

THOMAS  FOGARTY 


GROSSET     &     DUNLAP 
Publishers        :        New    York 


COPYRIGHT  1908 
THE  BOBBS-MEHRILL  COMPANY 

JANTTART 


20*5356 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    DIVERSIONS  OF  A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN      .       .  1 

II  "AND  SOME  THERE  BE  WHO  HAVE  ADVEN- 

TURES THRUST  UPON  THEM"     ...  23 

III  CALENDAR'S  DAUGHTER 37 

IV  9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  G 51 

V   THE  MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER        .       .  70 

VI   "BELOW  BRIDGE" 92 

VII    DIVERSIONS  OF  A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN- 
RESUMED 118 

VIII    MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE 144 

IX   AGAIN  "  BELOW  BRIDGE";  AND  BEYOND  .       .  170 

X  DESPERATE  MEASURES 185 

XI    OFF  THE  NORE 212 

XII  PICARESQUE  PASSAGES 227 

XIII  A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME    .       .       .  259 

XIV  STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS 285 

XV   REFUGEES   .              :.    ' 306 

XVI   TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON     ....  323 

XVII    ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS 360 

XVIII   ADVENTURERS'  LUCK         .....  390 

XIX     i— THE  UXBRIDGE  ROAD         ....  410 

ii— THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE    ....  417 

iii— THE  JOURNEY'S  END  .  433 


THE  BLACK  BAG 


DIVERSIONS    OF    A    RUINED    GENTLEMAN 

Upon  a  certain  dreary  April  afternoon  in  the 
year  of  grace,  1906,  the  apprehensions  of  Philip 
Kirkwood,  Esquire,  Artist-peintre,  were  enlivened  by 
the  discovery  that  he  was  occupying  that  singularly 
distressing  social  position,  which  may  be  summed  up 
succinctly  in  a  phrase  through  long  usage  grown 
proverbial :  "  Alone  in  London."  These  three 
words  have  come  to  connote  in  our  understanding  so 
much  of  human  misery,  that  to  Mr.  Kirkwood  they 
seemed  to  epitomize  absolutely,  if  not  happily,  the 
various  circumstances  attendant  upon  the  predic- 
ament wherein  he  found  himself.  Inevitably  an  ex- 
tremist, because  of  his  youth,  (he  had  just  turned 
twenty -five),  he  took  no  count  of  mitigating  matters, 
and  would  hotly  have  resented  the  suggestion  that  his 
case  was  anything  but  altogether  deplorable  and  for- 
lorn. 

That  he  was  not  actually  at  the  end  of  his 
1 


2  THE  BLACK  BAG 

resources  went  for  nothing;  he  held  the  distinction  a 
quibble,  mockingly  immaterial, —  like  the  store  of 
guineas  in  his  pocket,  too  insignificant  for  mention 
when  contrasted  with  his  needs.  And  his  base  of 
supplies,  the  American  city  of  his  nativity,  whence 

—  and   not  without  a   glow   of  pride  in   his   secret 
heart  —  he  was  wont  to   register  at  foreign  hostel- 
ries,   had  been  arbitrarily  cut  off  from  him  by  one 
of  those  accidents  sardonically  classified  by  insurance 
and  express  corporations  as  Acts  of  God. 

Now  to  one  who  has  lived  all  his  days  serenely  in 
accord  with  the  dictates  of  his  own  sweet  will,  taking 
no  thought  for  the  morrow,  such  a  situation 
naturally  seems  both  appalling  and  intolerable,  at 
the  first  blush.  It  must  be  confessed  that,  to  begin 
with,  Kirkwood  drew  a  long  and  disconsolate  face 
over  his  fix.  And  in  that  black  hour,  primitive  of 
its  kind  in  his  brief  span,  he  became  conscious  of  a 
sinister  apparition  taking  shape  at  his  elbow  —  a 
shade  of  darkness  which,  clouting  him  on  the  back 
with  a  skeleton  hand,  croaked  hollow  salutations  in 
his  ear. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Kirkwood,  come ! "  its  mirthless  ac- 
cents rallied  him.  "  Have  you  no  welcome  for  me? 

—  you,  who  have  been  permitted  to  live  the  quarter 
of    a    century    without    making    my    acquaintance? 
Surely,  now,  it's  high  time  we  were  learning  some- 
thing of  one  another,  you  and  I!" 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  3 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  returned  Kirkwood 
blankly.  "  I  don't  know  you  — " 

"True!  But  you  shall:  I  am  the  Shade  of 
Care  — " 

"  Dull  Care !  "  murmured  Kirkwood,  bewildered  and 
dismayed ;  for  the  visitation  had  come  upon  him  with 
little  presage  and  no  invitation  whatever. 

"  Dull  Care,"  the  Shade  assured  him.  "  Dull  Care 
am  I  —  and  Care  that's  anything  but  dull,  into  the 
bargain:  Care  that's  like  a  keen  pain  in  your  body, 
Care  that  lives  a  horror  in  your  mind,  Care  that 
darkens  your  days  and  flavors  with  bitter  poison 
all  your  nights,  Care  that — ! 

But  Kirkwood  would  not  listen  further.  Cour- 
ageously submissive  to  his  destiny,  knowing  in  his 
heart  that  the  Shade  had  come  to  stay,  he  yet  found 
spirit  to  shake  himself  with  a  dogged  air,  to  lift  his 
chin,  set  the  strong  muscles  of  his  jaw,  and  smile  that 
homely  wholesome  smile  which  was  his  peculiarly. 

"  Very  well,"  he  accepted  the  irremediable  with 
grim  humor ;  "  what  must  be,  must.  I  don't  pretend 
to  be  glad  to  see  you,  but  —  you're  free  to  stay  as 
long  as  you  find  the  climate  agreeable.  I  warn  you 
I  shan't  whine.  Lots  of  men,  hundreds  and  hun- 
dreds of  'em,  have  slept  tight  o'  nights  with  you 
for  bedfellow;  if  they  could  grin  and  bear  you,  I 
believe  I  can." 

Now  Care  mocked  him  with  a  sardonic  laugh,  and 


4  THE  BLACK  BAG 

sought  to  tighten  upon  his  shoulders  its  bony  grasp ; 
but  Kirkwood  resolutely  shrugged  it  off  and  went 
in  search  of  man's  most  faithful  dumb  friend,  to 
wit,  his  pipe;  the  which,  when  found  and  filled,  he 
lighted  with  a  spill  twisted  from  the  envelope  of  a 
cable  message  which  had  been  vicariously  responsi- 
ble for  his  introduction  to  the  Shade  of  Care. 

"  It's  about  time,"  he  announced,  watching  the 
paper  blacken  and  burn  in  the  grate  fire,  "  that  I  was 
doing  something  to  prove  my  title  to  a  living."  And 
this  was  all  his  valedictory  to  a  vanished  competence. 
"  Anyway,"  he  added  hastily,  as  if  fearful  lest  Care, 
overhearing,  might  have  read  into  his  tone  a  trace 
of  vain  repining,  "  anyway,  I'm  a  sight  better  off 
than  those  poor  devils  over  there !  I  really  have  a 
great  deal  to  be  thankful  for,  now  that  my  attention's 
drawn  to  it." 

For  the  ensuing  few  minutes  he  thought  it  all  over, 
soberly  but  with  a  stout  heart ;  standing  at  a  window 
of  his  bedroom  in  the  Hotel  Pless,  hands  deep  in 
trouser  pockets,  pipe  fuming  voluminously,  his  gaze 
wandering  out  over  a  blurred  infinitude  of  wet  shin- 
ing roofs  and  sooty  chimney-pots :  all  of  London  that 
a  lowering  drizzle  would  let  him  see,  and  withal  by  no 
means  a  cheering  prospect,  nor  yet  one  calculated 
to  offset  the  disheartening  influence  of  the  indomi- 
table Shade  of  Care.  But  the  truth  is  that  Kirk- 
wood's  brain  comprehended  little  that  his  eyes 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  5 

perceived ;  his  thoughts  were  with  his  heart,  and  that 
was  half  a  world  away  and  sick  with  pity  for  an- 
other and  a  fairer  city,  stricken  in  the  flower  of  her 
loveliness,  writhing  in  Promethean  agony  upon  her 
storied  hills. 

There  came  a  rapping  at  the  door. 
Kirkwood    removed    the    pipe    from    between    his 
teeth  long  enough  to  say  "  Come  in ! "  pleasantly. 

The  knob  was  turned,  the  door  opened.  Kirk- 
wood,  swinging  on  one  heel,  beheld  hesitant  upon  the 
threshold  a  diminutive  figure  in  the  livery  of  the  Pless 
pages. 

"  Mister  Kirkwood?  " 
Kirkwood  nodded. 
"  Gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 

Kirkwood  nodded  again,  smiling.  "  Show  him  up, 
please,"  he  said.  But  before  the  words  were  fairly 
out  of  his  mouth  a  footfall  sounded  in  the  corridor, 
a  hand  was  placed  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  page, 
gently  but  with  decision  swinging  him  out  of  the 
way,  and  a  man  stepped  into  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Brentwick ! "  Kirkwood  almost  shouted, 
jumping  forward  to  seize  his  visitor's  hand. 

"  My  dear  boy ! "  replied  the  latter.  "  I'm  de- 
lighted to  see  you.  'Got  your  note  not  an  hour  ago, 
and  came  at  once  —  you  see !  " 

"  It  was  mighty  good  of  you.  Sit  down,  please. 
Here  are  cigars.  .  .  .  Why,  a  moment  ago  I 


6  THE  BLACK  BAG 

was  the  most  miserable  and  lonely  mortal  on  the  foot- 
stool ! " 

"  I  can  fancy."  The  elder  man  looked  up,  smil- 
ing at  Kirkwood  from  the  depths  of  his  arm-chair, 
as  the  latter  stood  above  him,  resting  an  elbow  on  the 
mantel.  "  The  management  knows  me,"  he  offered 
explanation  of  his  unceremonious  appearance ;  "  so  I 
took  the  liberty  of  following  on  the  heels  of  the  bell- 
hop, dear  boy.  And  how  are  you?  Why  are  you 
in  London,  enjoying  our  abominable  spring  weather? 
And  why  the  anxious  undertone  I  detected  in  your 
note?" 

He  continued  to  stare  curiously  into  Kirkwood's 
face.  At  a  glance,  this  Mr.  Brentwick  was  a  man  of 
tallish  figure  and  rather  slender;  with  a  countenance 
thin  and  flushed  a  sensitive  pink,  out  of  which  his 
eyes  shone,  keen,  alert,  humorous,  and  a  trace  wist- 
ful behind  his  glasses.  His  years  were  indeterminate ; 
with  the  aspect  of  fifty,  the  spirit  and  the  verve  of 
thirty  assorted  oddly.  But  his  hands  were  old,  deli- 
cate, fine  and  fragile;  and  the  lips  beneath  the 
drooping  white  mustache  at  times  trembled,  almost 
imperceptibly,  with  the  generous  sentiments  that 
come  with  mellow  age.  He  held  his  back  straight 
and  his  head  with  an  air  —  an  air  that  was  not  a 
swagger  but  the  sign-token  of  seasoned  experience  in 
the  world.  The  most  carping  could  have  found  no 
flaw  in  the  quiet  taste  of  his  attire.  To  sum  up,, 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  7 

Kirkwood's  very  good  friend  —  and  his  only  one 
then  in  London  —  Mr.  Brentwick  looked  and  was 
an  English  gentleman. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  persisted,  as  the  younger  man  hesi- 
tated. "  I  am  here  to  find  out.  To-night  I  leave 
for  the  Continent.  In  the  meantime  .  .  ." 

"  And  at  midnight  I  sail  for  the  States,"  added 
Kirkwood.  "  That  is  mainly  why  I  wished  to  see 
you  —  to  say  good-by,  for  the  time." 

"  You're  going  home  —  A  shadow  clouded 
Brentwick's  clear  eyes. 

"  To  fight  it  out,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  my 
brethren  in  adversity." 

The  cloud  lifted.  "  That  is  the  spirit !  "  declared 
the  elder  man.  "  For  the  moment  I  did  you  the  in- 
justice to  believe  that  you  were  running  away.  But 
now  I  understand.  Forgive  me.  .  ...  Pardon, 
too,  the  stupidity  which  I  must  lay  at  the  door  of 
my  advancing  years ;  to  me  the  thought  of  you  as  a 
Parisian  fixture  has  become  such  a  commonplace, 
Philip,  that  the  news  of  the  disaster  hardly  stirred 
me.  Now  I  remember  that  you  are  a  Californian." 

"  I  was  born  in  San  Francisco,"  affirmed  Kirk- 
wood  a  bit  sadly.  "  My  father  and  mother  were 
buried  there  .  .  ." 

"And  your  fortune — ?" 

"  I  inherited  my  father's  interest  in  the  firm  of 
Kirkwood  &  Vanderlip ;  when  I  came  over  to  study 


8  THE  BLACK  BAG 

painting,    I   left    everything   in   Vanderlip's    hands. 
The  business  afforded  me  a  handsome  living." 
"  You  have  heard  from  Mr.  Vanderlip  ?  " 
"  Fifteen  minutes  ago."     Kirkwood  took  a  cable- 
form,  still  damp,  from  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to 
his  guest.     Unfolding  it,  the  latter  read: 

"  Kirkwood,  Pless,  London.  Stay  where  you  are 
no  good  coming  back  everything  gone  no  insurance 
letter  follows  vanderlip." 

"  When  I  got  the  news  in  Paris,"  Kirkwood  volun- 
teered, "  I  tried  the  banks ;  they  refused  to  honor  my 
drafts.  I  had  a  little  money  in  hand, —  enough  to 
see  me  home, —  so  closed  the  studio  and  came  across. 
I'm  booked  on  the  Minneapolis,  sailing  from  Tilbury 
at  daybreak;  the  boat-train  leaves  at  eleven-thirty. 
I  had  hoped  you  might  be  able  to  dine  with  me  and 
see  me  off." 

In  silence  Brentwick  returned  the  cable  message. 
Then,  with  a  thoughtful  look,  "  You  are  sure  this  is 
wise?  "  he  queried. 

"  It's  the  only  thing  I  can  see." 

"  But  your  partner  says  — " 

"  Naturally  he  thinks  that  by  this  time  I  should 
have  learned  to  paint  well  enough  to  support  myself 
for  a  few  months,  until  he  can  get  things  running 
again.  Perhaps  I  might."  Brentwick  supported 
the  presumption  with  a  decided  gesture.  "  But  have 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  9 

I  a  right  to  leave  Vanderlip  to  fight  it  out  alone? 
For  Vanderlip  has  a  wife  and  kiddies  to  support ; 
I—" 

"Your  genius ! " 

"  My  ability,  such  as  it  is  —  and  that  only.  It 
can  wait.  .  .  .  No ;  this  means  simply  that  I 
must  come  down  from  the  clouds,  plant  my  feet  on 
solid  earth,  and  get  to  work." 

"  The  sentiment  is  sound,"  admitted  Brentwick, 
"  the  practice  of  it,  folly.  Have  you  stopped  to 
think  what  part  a  rising  young  portrait-painter  can 
contribute  toward  the  rebuilding  of  a  devastated 
city?" 

"  The  painting  can  wait,"  reiterated  Kirkwood. 
"  I  can  work  like  other  men." 

"  You  can  do  yourself  and  your  genius  grave  in- 
justice. And  I  fear  me  you  will,  dear  boy.  It's  in 
keeping  with  your  heritage  of  American  obstinacy. 
Now  if  it  were  a  question  of  money  — ' 

"  Mr.  Brentwick !  "  Kirkwood  protested  vehement- 
ly. "  I've  ample  for  my  present  needs,"  he  added. 

"  Of  course,"  conceded  Brentwick  with  a  sigh. 
"  I  didn't  really  hope  you  would  avail  yourself  of 
our  friendship.  Now  there's  my  home  in  Aspen  Vil- 
las. .  .  .  You  have  seen  it? " 

"  In  your  absence  this  afternoon  your  estimable 
butler,  with  commendable  discretion,  kept  me  with- 
out the  doors,"  laughed  the  young  man. 


10  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  It's  a  comfortable  home.  You  would  not  con- 
sent to  share  it  with  me  until  —  ?  " 

"  You  are  more  than  good ;  but  honestly,  I  must 
sail  to-night.  I  wanted  only  this  chance  to  see  you 
before  I  left.  You'll  dine  with  me,  won't  you?  " 

"  If  you  would  stay  in  London,  Philip,  we  would 
dine  together  not  once  but  many  times ;  as  it  is,  I 
myself  am  booked  for  Munich,  to  be  gone  a  week,  on 
business.  I  have  many  affairs  needing  attention  be- 
tween now  and  tlje  nine-ten  train  from  Victoria.  If 
you  will  be  my  guest  at  Aspen  Villas  — " 

"  Please ! "  begged  Kirkwood,  with  a  little  laugh 
of  pleasure  because  of  the  other's  insistence.  "  I 
only  wish  I  could.  Another  day  — " 

"  Oh,  you  will  make  your  million  in  a  year,  and 
return  scandalously  independent.  It's  in  your  Amer- 
ican blood."  Frail  white  fingers  tapped  an  arm  of 
the  chair  as  their  owner  stared  gravely  into  the  fire. 
"  I  confess  I  envy  you,"  he  observed. 

"  The  opportunity  to  make  a  million  in  a  year?  " 
chuckled  Kirkwood. 

"  No.     I  envy  you  your  Romance." 

"  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man  went  out 
of  fashion  years  ago.  .  .  .  No,  my  dear  friend ; 
my  Romance  died  a  natural  death  half  an  hour 
since." 

"  There    spoke    Youth  —  blind,    enviable    Youth ! 
On  the  contrary,  you  are  but  turning  the 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  11 

leaves  of  the  first  chapter  of  your  Romance,  Philip." 

"  Romance  is  dead,"  contended  the  young  man 
stubbornly. 

"  Long  live  the  King ! "  Brentwick  laughed 
quietly,  still  attentive  to  the  fire.  "  Myself  when 
young,"  he  said  softly,  "  did  seek  Romance,  but  never 
knew  it  till  its  day  was  done.  I'm  quite  sure  that  is 
a  poor  paraphrase  of  something  I  have  read.  In, 
age,  one's  sight  is  sharpened  —  to  see  Romance  in 
another's  life,  at  least.  I  say  I  envy  you.  You  have 
Youth,  unconquerable  Youth,  and  the  world  before 
you.  ...  I  must  go." 

He  rose  stiffly,  as  though  suddenly  made  conscious 
of  his  age.  The  old  eyes  peered  more  than  a  trifle 
wistfully,  now,  into  Kirkwood's.  "  You  will  not 
fail  to  call  on  me  by  cable,  dear  boy,  if  you  need  — 
anything?  I  ask  it  as  a  favor.  .  .  .  I'm  glad 
you  wished  to  see  me  before  going  out  of  my  life. 
One  learns  to  value  the  friendship  of  Youth,  Philip. 
Good-by,  and  good  luck  attend  you." 

Alone  once  more,  Kirkwood  returned  to  his  win- 
dow. The  disappointment  he  felt  at  being  robbed  of 
his  anticipated  pleasure  in  Brentwick's  company  at 
dinner,  colored  his  mood  unpleasantly.  His  musings 
merged  into  vacuity,  into  a  dull  gray  mist  of  hope- 
lessness comparable  only  to  the  dismal  skies  then  low- 
ering over  London-town. 

Brentwick  was  good,  but  Brentwick  was  mistaken. 


12  THE  BLACK  BAG 

There  was  really  nothing  for  Kirkwood  to  do  but  to 
go  ahead.  But  one  steamer-trunk  remained  to  be 
packed ;  the  boat-train,  would  leave  before  midnight, 
the  steamer  with  the  morning  tide;  by  the  morrow's 
noon  he  would  be  upon  the  high  seas,  within  ten  days 
in  New  York  and  among  friends;  and  then 

The  problem  of  that  afterwards  perplexed  Kirk- 
wood  more  than  he  cared  to  own.  Brentwick  had 
opened  his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  he  would  be  practic- 
ally useless  in  San  Francisco ;  he  could  not  harbor  the 
thought  of  going  back,  only  to  become  a  charge  upon 
Vanderlip.  No;  he  was  resolved  that  thenceforward 
he  must  rely  upon  himself,  carve  out  his  own  destiny. 
But  —  would  the  art  that  he  had  cultivated  with  such 
assiduity,  yield  him  a  livelihood  if  sincerely  practised 
with  that  end  in  view?  Would  the  mental  and 
physical  equipment  of  a  painter,  heretofore  dilet- 
tante, enable  him  to  become  self-supporting? 

Knotting  his  brows  in  concentration  of  effort  to 
divine  the  future,  he  doubted  himself,  darkly  ques- 
tioning alike  his  abilities  and  his  temper  under  trial; 
neither  ere  now  had  ever  been  put  to  the  test.  His 
eyes  became  somberly  wistful,  his  heart  sore  with  re- 
gret of  Yesterday  —  his  Yesterday  of  care-free 
youth  and  courage,  gilded  with  the  ineffable,  evan- 
escent glamour  of  Romance  —  of  such  Romance, 
thrice  refined  of  dross,  as  only  he  knows  who  has 
wooed  his  Art  with  passion  passing  the  love  of  woman. 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  13 

Far  away,  above  the  acres  of  huddled  roofs  and 
chimney-pots,  the  storm-mists  thinned,  lifting  tran- 
siently ;  through  them,  gray,  fairy -like,  the  towers  of 
Westminster  and  the  Houses  of  Parliament  bulked 
monstrous  and  unreal,  fading  when  again  the  fugi- 
tive dun  vapors  closed  down  upon  the  city. 

Nearer  at  hand  the  Shade  of  Care  nudged  Kirk- 
wood's  elbow,  whispering  subtly.  Romance  was  in- 
deed dead ;  the  world  was  cold  and  cruel. 

The  gloom  deepened. 

In  the  cant  of  modern  metaphysics,  the  moment 
was  psychological. 

There  came  a  rapping  at  the  door. 

Kirkwood  removed  the  pipe  from  between  his  teeth 
long  enough  to  say  "  Come  in !  "  pleasantly. 

The  knob  was  turned,  the  door  opened.  Kirk- 
wood,  turning  on  one  heel,  beheld  hesitant  upon  the 
threshold  a  diminutive  figure  in  the  livery  of  the 
Pless  pages. 

"Mr.  Kirkwood?" 

Kirkwood  nodded. 

"  Gentleman  to  see  you,  sir." 

Kirkwood  nodded  again,  smiling  if  somewhat  per- 
plexed. Encouraged,  the  child  advanced,  proffering 
a  silver  card- tray  at  the  end  of  an  unnaturally  rigid 
forearm.  Kirkwood  took  the  card  dubiously  be- 
tween thumb  and  forefinger  and  inspected  it  without 
prejudice. 


,14.  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  '  George  B.  Calendar,'  "  he  read.  "  «  George  B. 
Calendar ! '  But  I  know  no  such  person.  Sure 
there's  no  mistake,  young  man?  " 

The  close-cropped,  bullet-shaped,  British  head  was 
agitated  in  vigorous  negation,  and  "  Card  for  Mis- 
ter Kirkwood ! "  was  mumbled  in  dispassionate  ac- 
cents appropriate  to  a  recitation  by  rote. 

"  Very  well.  But  before  you  show  him  up,  ask 
this  Mr.  Calendar  if  he  is  quite  sure  he  wants  to  see 
Philip  Kirkwood." 

"  Yessir." 

The  child  marched  out,  punctiliously  closing  the 
door.  Kirkwood  tamped  down  the  tobacco  in  his 
pipe  and  puffed  energetically,  dismissing  the  inter- 
ruption to  his  reverie  as  a  matter  of  no  consequence 
—  an  obvious  mistake  to  be  rectified  by  two  words  with 
this  Mr.  Calendar  whom  he  did  not  know.  At  the 
knock  he  had  almost  hoped  it  might  be  Brentwick,  re- 
turning with  a  changed  mind  about  the  bid  to  din- 
ner. 

He  regretted  Brentwick  sincerely.  Theirs  was  a 
curious  sort  of  friendship  —  extraordinarily  close  iA 
view  of  the  meagerness  of  cither's  information  about 
the  other,  to  say  nothing  of  the  disparity  between 
their  ages.  Concerning  the  elder  man  Kirkwood 
knew  little  more  than  that  they  had  met  on  ship- 
board, "  coming  over " ;  that  Brentwick  had  spent 
some  years  in  America;  that  he  was  an  Englishman 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  15 

by  birth,  a  cosmopolitan  by  habit,  by  profession  a 
gentleman  (employing1  that  term  in  its  most  un- 
compromisingly British  significance),  and  by  in- 
clination a  collector  of  "  articles  of  virtue  and  big- 
otry," in  pursuit  of  which  he  made  frequent  excur- 
sions to  the  Continent  from  his  residence  in  a  quaint 
quiet  street  of  Old  Brompton.  It  had  been  during 
his  not  infrequent,  but  ordinarily  abbreviated,  so- 
journs in  Paris  that  their  steamer  acquaintance  had 
ripened  into  an  affection  almost  filial  on  the  one 
hand,  almost  paternal  on  the  other. 

There  came  a  rapping  at  the  door. 

Kirkwood  removed  the  pipe  from  between  his  teeth 
long  enough  to  say  "  Come  in !  "  pleasantly. 

The  knob  was  turned,  the  door  opened.  Kirk- 
wood,  swinging  on  one  heel,  beheld  hesitant  upon  the 
threshold  a  rather  rotund  figure  of  medium  height, 
clad  in  an  expressionless  gray  lounge  suit,  with  a 
brown  "  bowler "  hat  held  tentatively  in  one  hand, 
an  umbrella  weeping  in  the  other.  A  voice,  which 
was  unctuous  and  insinuative,  emanated  from  the 
figure. 

"Mr.  Kirkwood?" 

Kirkwood  nodded,  with  some  effort  recalling  the 
name,  so  detached  had  been  his  thoughts  since  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  page. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Calendar—  ?" 

"  Are  you  —  ah  —  busy,  Mr.  Kirkwood?  " 


16  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Are  you,  Mr.  Calendar? "  Kirkwood's  smile 
robbed  the  retort  of  any  flavor  of  incivility. 

Encouraged,  the  man  entered,  premising  that  he 
would  detain  his  host  but  a  moment,  and  readily  sur- 
rendering hat  and  umbrella.  Kirkwood,  putting  the 
latter  aside,  invited  his  caller  to  the  easy  chair  which 
Brentwick  had  occupied  by  the  fireplace. 

*'  It  takes  the  edge  off  the  dampness,"  Kirkwood 
explained  in  deference  to  the  other's  look  of  pleased 
surprise  at  the  cheerful  bed  of  coals.  "  I'm  afraid  I 
could  never  get  acclimated  to  life  in  a  cold,  damp 
room  —  or  a  damp  cold  room  —  such  as  you  British- 
ers prefer." 

"  It  is  grateful,"  Mr.  Calendar  agreed,  spreading 
plump  and  well  cared-for  hands  to  the  warmth. 
"  But  you  are  mistaken ;  I  am  as  much  an  American 
as  yourself." 

"  Yes  ? "  Kirkwood  looked  the  man  over  with 
more  interest,  less  matter-of-course  courtesy. 

He  proved  not  unprepossessing,  this  unclassifiable 
Mr.  Calendar;  he  was  dressed  with  some  care,  his 
complexion  was  good,  and  the  fullness  of  his  girth, 
emphasized  as  it  was  by  a  notable  lack  of  inches,  be- 
spoke a  nature  genial,  easy-going  and  sybaritic. 
His  dark  eyes,  heavy-lidded,  were  active  —  curiously, 
at  times,  with  a  subdued  glitter  —  in  a  face  large, 
round,  pink,  of  which  the  other  most  remarkable 
features  were  a  mustache,  close-trimmed  and  show- 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  17 

ing  streaks  of  gray,  a  chubby  nose,  and  duplicate 
chins.  Mr.  Calendar  was  furthermore  possessed  of  a 
polished  bald  spot,  girdled  with  a  tonsure  of  silvered 
hair  —  circumstances  which  lent  some  factitious  dis- 
tinction to  a  personality  otherwise  commonplace. 

His  manner  might  be  best  described  as  uneasy  with 
assurance;  as  though  he  frequently  found  it  neces- 
sary to  make  up  for  his  unimpressive  stature  by  as- 
suming an  unnatural  habit  of  authority.  And  there 
you  have  him;  beyond  these  points,  Kirkwood  was 
conscious  of  no  impressions ;  the  man  was  apparently 
neutral-tinted  of  mind  as  well  as  of  body. 

"  So  you  knew  I  was  an  American,  Mr.  Calendar?  " 
suggested  Kirkwood. 

"  'Saw  your  name  on  the  register ;  we  both  hail 
from  the  same  neck  of  the  woods,  you  know." 

"  I  didn't  know  it,  and  — " 

"  Yes ;  I'm  from  Frisco,  too." 

"  And  I'm  sorry." 

Mr.  Calendar  passed  five  fat  fingers  nervously  over 
his  mustache,  glanced  alertly  up  at  Kirkwood,  as  if 
momentarily  inclined  to  question  his  tone,  then  again 
stared  glumly  into  the  fire ;  for  Kirkwood  had  main-f 
tained  an  attitude  purposefully  colorless.  Not  to 
put  too  fine  a  point  upon  it,  be  believed  that  his  caller 
was  lying;  the  man's  appearance,  his  mannerisms,  his 
voice  and  enunciation,  while  they  might  have  been 
American,  seemed  all  un-Californian.  To  one  born 


18  THE  BLACK  BAG 

and  bred  in  that  state,  as  Kirkwood  had  been,  her  sons 
are  unmistakably  hall-marked. 

Now  no  man  lies  without  motive.  This  one  chose 
to  reaffirm,  with  a  show  of  deep  feeling :  "  Yes ; 
I'm  from  Frisco,  too.  We're  companions  in  mis- 
fortune." 

"  I  hope  not  altogether,"  said  Kirkwood  politely. 

Mr.  Calendar  drew  his  own  inferences  from  the 
response  and  mustered  up  a  show  of  cheerfulness. 
"  Then  you're  not  completely  wiped  out?  " 

"  To  the  contrary,  I  was  hoping  you  were  less  un- 
happy." 

"  Oh !     Then  you  are  —  ?  " 

Kirkwood  lifted  the  cable  message  from  the  mantel. 
"  I  have  just  heard  from  my  partner  at  home,"  he 
said  with  a  faint  smile ;  and  quoted :  "  '  Everything 
gone ;  no  insurance.' ' 

Mr.  Calendar  pursed  his  plump  lips,  whistling  in- 
audibly.  "  Too  bad,  too  bad !  "  he  murmured  sym- 
pathetically. "  We're  all  hard  hit,  more  or  less." 
He  lapsed  into  dejected  apathy,  from  which  Kirk- 
wood, growing  at  length  impatient,  found  it  neces- 
sary to  rouse  him. 

"  You  wished  to  see  me  about  something  else,  I'm 
sure  ?  " 

Mr.    Calendar    started    from    his    reverie.     "  Eh? 

I  was  dreaming.     I  beg  pardon.     It  seems 

hard  to  realize,  Mr.  Kirkwood,  that  this  awful  ca- 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  19 

tastrophe  has  overtaken  our  beloved  metropolis — '; 

The  canting  phrases  wearied  Kirkwood;  abruptly 
he  cut  in.  "  Would  a  sovereign  help  you  out,  Mr. 
Calendar?  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that's  about  the 
limit  of  my  present  resources." 

"  Pardon  me"  Mr.  Calendar's  moon-like  counte- 
nance darkened ;  he  assumed  a  transparent  dignity. 
"  You  misconstrue  my  motive,  sir." 

"  Then  I'm  sorry." 

"  I  am  not  here  to  borrow.  On  the  other  hand, 
quite  by  accident  I  discovered  your  name  upon  the 
register,  down-stairs ;  a  good  old  Frisco  name,  if 
you  will  permit  me  to  say  so.  I  thought  to  myself 
that  here  was  a  chance  to  help  a  fellow-countryman." 
Calendar  paused,  interrogative ;  Kirkwood  remained 
interested  but  silent.  "  If  a  passage  across  would 
help  you,  I  —  I  think  it  might  be  arranged,"  stam- 
mered Calendar,  ill  at  ease. 

"  It  might,"  admitted  Kirkwood,  speculative. 

"  I  could  fix  it  so  that  you  could  go  over  —  first- 
class,  of  course  —  and  pay  your  way,  so  to  speak,  by 
rendering  us,  me  and  my  partner,  a  trifling  service." 

"Ah?" 

f<  In  fact,"  continued  Calendar,  warming  up  to 
his  theme,  "  there  might  be  something  more  in  it  for 
you  than  the  passage,  if  —  if  you  're  the  right  man, 
the  man  I'm  looking  for." 

"  That,  of  course,  is  the  question." 


20  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Eh?  "  Calendar  pulled  up  suddenly  in  a  full- 
winged  flight  of  enthusiasm. 

Kirkwood  eyed  him  steadily.  "  I  said  that  it  is  a 
question,  Mr.  Calendar,  whether  or  not  I  am  the  man 
you're  looking  for.  Between  you  and  me  and  the 
fire-dogs,  I  don't  believe  I  am.  Now  if  you  wish 
to  name  your  quid  pro  quo,  this  trifling  service  I'm 
to  render  in  recognition  of  your  benevolence,  you 
may." 

"  Ye-es,"  slowly.  But  the  speaker  delayed  his 
reply  until  he  had  surveyed  his  host  from  head  to 
foot,  with  a  glance  both  critical  and  appreciative. 

He  saw  a  man  in  height  rather  less  than  the  stock 
size  six-feet  so  much  in  demand  by  the  manufacturers 
of  modern  heroes  of  fiction ;  a  man  a  bit  round- 
shouldered,  too,  but  otherwise  sturdily  built,  self-con- 
tained, well-groomed. 

Kirkwood  wears  a  boy's  honest  face ;  no  one  has 
ever  called  him  handsome.  A  few  prejudiced  persons 
have  decided  that  he  has  an  interesting  countenance; 
the  propounders  of  this  verdict  have  been,  for  the 
most  part,  feminine.  Kirkwood  himself  has  been 
heard  to  declare  that  his  features  do  not  fit ;  in  its 
essence  the  statement  is  true,  but  there  is  a  very  real, 
if  undefinable,  engaging  quality  in  their  very  irregu- 
larity. His  eyes  are  brown,  pleasant,  set  wide  apart, 
straightforward  of  expression. 

Now  it  appeared  that,  whatever  his  motive,  Mr. 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  21 

Calendar  had  acted  upon  impulse  in  sending  his  card 
up  to  Kirkwood.  Possibly  he  had  anticipated  a  very 
different  sort  of  reception  from  a  very  different  sort 
of  man.  Even  in  the  light  of  subsequent  events  it 
remains  difficult  to  fathom  the  mystery  of  his  choice. 
Perhaps  Fate  directed  it ;  stranger  things  have  hap- 
pened at  the  dictates  of  a  man's  Destiny. 

At  all  events,  this  Calendar  proved  not  lacking  in 
penetration ;  men  of  his  stamp  are  commonly  endowed 
with  that  quality  to  an  eminent  degree.  Not  slow  to 
reckon  the  caliber  of  the  man  before  him,  the  leaven 
of  intuition  began  to  work  in  his  adipose  intelligence. 
He  owned  himself  baffled. 

"  Thanks,"  he  concluded  pensively ;  "  I  reckon 
you're  right.  You  won't  do,  after  all.  I've  wasted 
your  time.  Mine,  too." 

"  Don't  mention  it." 

Calendar  got  heavily  out  of  his  chair,  reaching  for 
his  hat  and  umbrella.  "  Permit  me  to  apologize  for 
an  unwarrantable  intrusion,  Mr.  Kirkwood."  He 
faltered;  a  worried  and  calculating  look  shadowed 
his  small  eyes.  "  I  was  looking  for  some  one  to  serve 
me  in  a  certain  capacity — " 

"  Certain  or  questionable  ?  "  propounded  Kirkwood 
blandly,  opening  the  door. 

Pointedly  Mr.  Calendar  ignored  the  imputation. 
"  Sorry  I  disturbed  you.  G'dafternoon,  Mr.  Kirk- 
wood." 


22  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Good-by,  Mr.  Calendar."  A  smile  twitched  the 
corners  of  Kirkwood's  too-wide  mouth. 

Calendar  stepped  hastily  out  into  the  hall.  As 
jhe  strode  —  or  rather,  rolled  —  away,  Kirkwood  ma- 
liciously feathered  a  Parthian  arrow. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Calendar — ?" 

The  sound  of  retreating  footsteps  was  stilled  and 
"  Yes  ?  "  came  from  the  gloom  of  the  corridor. 

"  Were  you  ever  in  San  Francisco?  Really  and 
truly?  Honest  Injun,  Mr.  Calendar?  " 

For  a  space  the  quiet  was  disturbed  by  harsh 
breathing ;  then,  in  a  strained  voice,  "  Good  day,  Mr. 
Kirkwood  " ;  and  again  the  sound  of  departing  foot- 
falls. 

Kirkwood  closed  the  door  and  the  incident  simul- 
taneously, with  a  smart  bang  of  finality.  Laugh- 
ing quietly  he  went  back  to  the  window  with  its 
dreary  outlook,  now  the  drearier  for  lengthening 
evening  shadows. 

"  I  wonder  what  his  game  is,  anyway.  An  ad- 
venturer, of  course;  the  woods  are  full  of  'em.  A 
queer  fish,  even  of  his  kind!  And  with  a  trick  up 
his  sleeve  as  queer  and  fishy  as  himself,  no  doubt ! " 


II 

"  AND      SOME     THERE      BE      WHO     HAVE     ADVENTURES^ 
THRUST    UPON    THEM  " 

The  assumption  seems  not  unwarrantable,  that 
Mr.  Calendar  figuratively  washed  his  hands  of  Mr. 
Kirkwood.  Unquestionably  Mr.  Kirkwood  con- 
sidered himself  well  rid  of  Mr.  Calendar.  When  the 
latter  had  gone  his  way,  Kirkwood,  mindful  of  the 
fact  that  his  boat-train  would  leave  St.  Pancras  at 
half -after  eleven,  set  about  his  packing  and  dismissed 
from  his  thoughts  the  incident  created  by  the  fat 
chevalier  d'industrie;  and  at  six  o'clock,  or  there- 
abouts, let  himself  out  of  his  room,  dressed  for  the 
evening,  a  light  rain-coat  over  one  arm,  in  the  other 
hand  a  cane, —  the  drizzle  having  ceased. 

A  stolid  British  lift  lifted  him  down  to  the  ground 
floor  of  the  establishment  in  something  short  of  five 
minutes.  Pausing  in  the  office  long  enough  to  settle 
his  bill  and  leave  instructions  to  have  his  luggage 
conveyed  to  the  boat-train,  he  received  with  entire 
equanimity  the  affable  benediction  of  the  clerk,  in 
whose  eyes  he  still  figured  as  that  radiant  creature, 
an  American  millionaire ;  and  passed  on  to  the  lobby, 


24  THE  BLACK  BAG 

where  he  surrendered  hat,  coat  and  stick  to  the  cloak- 
room attendant,  ere  entering  the  dirn'ng-room. 

The  hour  was  a  trifle  early  for  a  London  dinner, 
the  handsome  room  but  moderately  filled  with  pa- 
trons. Kirkwood  absorbed  the  fact  unconsciously 
and  without  displeasure;  the  earlier,  the  better:  he 
was  determined  to  consume  his  last  civilized  meal  (as 
he  chose  to  consider  it)  at  his  serene  leisure,  to  live 
fully  his  ebbing  moments  in  the  world  to  which  he 
was  born,  to  drink  to  its  cloying  dregs  one  ultimate 
draught  of  luxury. 

A  benignant  waiter  bowed  him  into  a  chair  by  a 
corner  table  in  juxtaposition  with  an  open  window, 
through  which,  swaying  imperceptibly  the  closed 
hangings,  were  wafted  gentle  gusts  of  the  London 
evening's  sweet,  damp  breath. 

Kirkwood  settled  himself  with  an  inaudible  sigh 
of  pleasure.  He  was  dining,  for  the  last  time  in 
Heaven  knew  how  long,  in  a  first-class  restau- 
rant. 

With  a  deferential  flourish  the  waiter  brought  him 
the  menu-card.  He  had  served  in  his  time  many  an 
"  American,  millionaire  " ;  he  had  also  served  this  Mr. 
Kirkwood,  and  respected  him  as  one  exalted  above 
the  run  of  his  kind,  in  that  he  comprehended  the  art 
of  dining. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  the  waiter  departed  rejoicing, 
his  order  complete. 


ADVENTURES  25 

To  distract  a  conscience  whispering  of  extrava- 
gance, Kirkwood  lighted  a  cigarette. 

The  room  was  gradually  filling  with  later  arrivals ; 
it  was  the  most  favored  restaurant  in  London,  and, 
despite  the  radiant  costumes  of  the  women,  its  atmos- 
phere remained  sedate  and  restful. 

A  cab  clattered  down  the  side  street  on  which  the 
window  opened. 

At  a  near-by  table  a  woman  laughed,  quietly  happy. 
Incuriously  Kirkwood  glanced  her  way.  She  was 
bending  forward,  smiling,  flattering  her  escort  with 
the  adoration  of  her  eyes.  They  were  lovers  alone  in 
the  wilderness  of  the  crowded  restaurant.  They 
seemed  very  happy. 

Kirkwood  was  conscious  of  a  strange  pang  of 
emotion.  It  took  him  some  time  to  comprehend  that 
it  was  envy. 

He  was  alone  and  lonely.  For  the  first  time  he 
realized  that  no  woman  had  ever  looked  upon  him  as 
the  woman  at  the  adjoining  table  looked  upon  her 
lover.  He  had  found  time  to  worship  but  one  mis- 
tress —  his  art. 

And  he  was  renouncing  her. 

He  was  painfully  conscious  of  what  he  had  missed, 
had  lost  —  or  had  not  yet  found :  the  love  of  woman. 

The  sensation  was  curious  —  new,  unique  in  his 
experience. 

His   cigarette  burned  down  to  his  fingers  as  he 


26  THE  BLACK  BAG 

sat  pondering.  Abstractedly  he  ground  its  fire  out 
in  an  ash-tray. 

The  waiter  set  before  him  a  silver  tureen,  covered. 

He  sat  up  and  began  to  consume  his  soup,  scarce 
doing  it  justice.  His  dream  troubled  him  —  his 
dream  of  the  love  of  woman. 

From  a  little  distance  his  waiter  regarded  him, 
with  an  air  of  disappointment.  In  the  course  of  an 
hour  and  a  half  he  awoke,  to  discover  the  attendant 
in  the  act  of  pouring  very  hot  and  black  coffee  from 
a  bright  silver  pot  into  a  demi-tasse  of  fragile  por- 
celain. Kirkwood  slipped  a  single  lump  of  sugar 
into  the  cup,  gave  over  his  cigar-case  to  be  filled, 
then  leaned  back,  deliberately  lighting  a  long  and 
slender  panetela  as  a  preliminary  to  a  last  lingering 
appreciation  of  the  scene  of  which  he  was  a  part. 

He  reviewed  it  through  narrowed  eyelids,  lazily ; 
yet  with  some  slight  surprise,  seeming  to  see  it  with 
new  vision,  with  eyes  from  which  scales  of  ignorance 
had  dropped. 

This  long  and  brilliant  dining-hall,  with  its  quiet 
perfection  of  proportion  and  appointment,  had  al- 
ways gratified  his  love  of  the  beautiful;  to-night  it 
pleased  him  to  an  unusual  degree.  Yet  it  was  the 
same  as  ever;  its  walls  tinted  a  deep  rose,  with  their 
hangings  of  dull  cloth-of-gold,  its  lights  discrimi- 
natingly clustered  and  discreetly  shaded,  redoubled 
in  half  a  hundred  mirrors,  its  subdued  shimmer  of 


ADVENTURES  27 

plate  and  glass,  its  soberly  festive  assemblage  of  cir- 
cumspect men  and  women  splendidly  gowned,  its 
decorously  muted  murmur  of  voices  penetrated  and 
interwoven  by  the  strains  of  a  hidden  string  or- 
chestra—  caressed  his  senses  as  always,  yet  with  a 
difference.  To-night  he  saw  it  a  room  populous 
with  lovers,  lovers  insensibly  paired,  man  unto  woman 
attentive,  woman  of  man  regardful. 

He  had  never  understood  this  before.  This  much 
he  had  missed  in  life. 

It  seemed  hard  to  realize  that  one  must  forego  it 
all  for  ever. 

Presently  he  found  himself  acutely  self-conscious. 
The  sensation  puzzled  him ;  and  without  appearing 
to  do  so,  he  traced  it  from  effect  to  cause ;  and 
found  the  cause  in  a  woman  —  a  girl,  rather,  seated 
at  a  table  the  third  removed  from  him,  near  the 
farther  wall  of  the  room. 

Too  considerate,  and  too  embarrassed,  to  return 
her  scrutiny  openly,  look  for  look,  he  yet  felt  sure 
that,  however  temporarily,  he  was  become  the  object 
of  her  intent  interest. 

Idly  employed  with  his  cigar,  he  sipped  his  coffee. 
In  time  aware  that  she  had  turned  her  attention  else- 
where, he  looked  up. 

At  first  he  was  conscious  of  an  effect  of  disappoint- 
ment. She  was  nobody  that  he  knew,  even  by  rep- 
utation. She  was  simply  a  young  girl,  barely  out 


28  THE  BLACK  BAG 

of  her  teens  —  if  as  old  as  that  phrase  would  signify. 
He  wondered  what  she  had  found  in  him  to  make  her 
think  him  worth  so  long  a  study;  and  looked  again, 
more  keenly  curious. 

With  this  second  glance,  appreciation  stirred  the 
artistic  side  of  his  nature,  that  was  already  grown 
impatient  of  his  fretted  mood.  The  slender  and 
girlish  figure,  posed  with  such  absolute  lack  of  in- 
trusion against  a  screen  of  rose  and  gilt,  moved 
him  to  critical  admiration.  The  tinted  glow  of 
shaded  candles  caught  glistening  on  the  spun  gold 
of  her  fair  hair,  and  enhanced  the  fine  pallor  of  her 
young  shoulders.  He  saw  promise,  and  something 
more  than  promise,  in  her  face,  its  oval  something 
dimmed  by  warm  shadows  that  unavailingly  sought  to 
blend  youth  and  beauty  alike  into  the  dull,  rich  back- 
ground. 

In  the  sheer  youth  of  her  (he  realized)  more  than 
in  aught  else,  lay  her  chiefest  charm.  She  could  be 
little  more  than  a  child,  indeed,  if  he  were  to  judge 
her  by  the  purity  of  her  shadowed  eyes  and  the  ab- 
sence of  emotion-  in  the  calm  and  direct  look  which 
presently  she  turned  upon  him  who  sat  wondering  at 
the  level,  penciled  darkness  of  her  brows. 

At  length  aware  that  she  had  surprised  his  in- 
terest, Kirkwood  glanced  aside  —  coolly  deliberate, 
lest  she  should  detect  in  his  attitude  anything  more 
than  impersonal  approval. 


ADVENTURES  29 

A  slow  color  burned  his  cheeks.  In  his  temples 
there  rose  a  curious  pulsing. 

After  a  while  she  drew  his  gaze  again,  imperiously 
• —  herself  all  unaware  of  the  havoc  she  was  wreaking 
on  his  temperament. 

He  could  have  fancied  her  distraught,  cloaking  an 
unhappy  heart  with  placid  brow  and  gracious  de- 
meanor; but  such  a  conception  matched  strangely 
her  glowing  youth  and  spirit.  What  had  she 
to  do  with  Care?  What  concern  had  Black  Care, 
whose  gaunt  shape  in  sable  shrouds  had  lurked  at 
his  shoulder  all  the  evening,  despite  his  rigid  pre- 
occupation, with  a  being  as  charmingly  flushed  with 
budding  womanhood  as  this  girl? 

"  Eighteen  ?  "  he  hazarded.  "  Eighteen,  or  pos- 
sibly nineteen,  dining  at  the  Pless  in  a  ravishing 
dinner-gown,  and  —  unhappy  ?  Oh,  hardly  —  not 
she!" 

Yet  the  impression  haunted  him,  and  ere  long  he 
was  fain  to  seek  confirmation  or  denial  of  it  in  the 
manner  of  her  escort. 

The  latter  sat  with  back  to  Kirkwood,  cutting  a 
figure  as  negative  as  his  snug  evening  clothes.  One 
could  surmise  little  from  a  fleshy  thick  neck,  a  round, 
glazed  bald  spot,  a  fringe  of  grizzled  hair,  and  two 
bright  red  ears. 

Calendar  ? 

Somehow  the  fellow  did  suggest  Kirkwood's  caller 


30  THE  BLACK  BAG 

of  the  afternoon.  The  young  man  could  not  have 
said  precisely  how,  for  he  was  unfamiliar  with  the 
aspect  of  that  gentleman's  back.  None  the  less  the 
suggestion  persisted. 

By  now,  a  few  of  the  guests,  theater-bound,  for 
the  most  part,  were  leaving.  Here  and  there  a  table 
"stood  vacant,  that  had  been  filled,  cloth  tarnished, 
chairs  disarranged:  in  another  moment  to  be  trans- 
formed into  its  pristine  brilliance  under  the  deft  at- 
tentions of  the  servitors** 

Down  an  aisle,  past  the  table  at  which  the  girl  was 
sitting,  came  two,  making  toward  the  lobby ;  the  man, 
a  slight  and  meager  young  personality,  in  the  lead. 
Their  party  had  attracted  Kirkwood's  notice  as  they 
entered ;  why,  he  did  not  remember ;  but  it  was  in  his 
mind  that  then  they  had  been  three.  Instinctively 
he  looked  at  the  table  they  had  left  —  one  placed  at 
some  distance  from  the  girl,  and  hidden  from  her 
by  an  angle  in  the  wall.  It  appeared  that  the  third 
member  had  chosen  to  dally  a  few  moments  over 
his  tobacco  and  a  liqueur-brandy.  Kirkwood  could 
see  him  plainly,  lounging  in  his  chair  and  fumbling 
the  stem  of  a  glass:  a  heavy  man,  of  somber  habit, 
his  black  and  sullen  brows  lowering  and  thoughtful 
above  a  face  boldly  handsome. 

The  woman  of  the  trio  was  worthy  of  closer  atten- 
tion. Some  paces  in  the  wake  of  her  lack-luster 
esquire,  she  was  making  a  leisurely  progress,  trailing 


ADVENTURES  31 

the  skirts  of  a  gown  magnificent  beyond  dispute,  half 
concealed  though  it  was  by  the  opera  cloak  whose 
soft  folds  draped  her  shoulders.  Slowly,  carrying 
her  head  high,  she  approached,  insolent  eyes  reviewing 
the  room  from  beneath  their  heavy  lids ;  a  metallic 
and  mature  type  of  dark  beauty,  supremely  self- 
confident  and  self-possessed. 

Men  turned  involuntarily  to  look  after  her,  not 
altogether  in  undiluted  admiration. 

In  the  act  of  passing  behind  the  putative  Calendar, 
she  paused  momentarily,  bending  as  if  to  gather  up 
her  train.  Presumably  the  action  disturbed  her 
balance;  she  swayed  a  little,  and  in  the  effort  to 
recover,  rested  the  tips  of  her  gloved  fingers  upon 
the  edge  of  the  table.  Simultaneously  (Kirkwood 
could  have  sworn)  a  single  word  left  her  lips,  a  word 
evidently  pitched  for  the  ear  of  the  hypothetical 
Calendar  alone.  Then  she  swept  on,  imperturbable, 
assured. 

To  the  perplexed  observer  it  was  indubitably  evi- 
dent that  some  communication  had  passed  from  the 
woman  to  the  man.  Kirkwood  saw  the  fat  shoulders 
of  the  girl's  companion  stiffen  suddenly  as  the 
woman's  hand  rested  at  his  elbow ;  as  she  moved  away, 
a  little  rippling  shiver  was  plainly  visible  in  the  mus- 
cles of  his  back,  beneath  his  coat  —  mute  token  of 
relaxing  tension.  An  instant  later  one  plump  and 
mottled  hand  was  carelessly  placed  where  the  woman's 


32  THE  BLACK  BAG 

had  been;  and  was  at  once  removed  with  fingers 
closed. 

To  the  girl,  watching  her  face  covertly,  Kirkwood 
turned  for  clue  to  the  incident.  He  made  no  doubt 
that  she  had  observed  the  passage ;  proof  of  that 
one  found  in  her  sudden  startling  pallor  (of  indig- 
nation?) and  in  her  eyes,  briefly  alight  with  some 
inscrutable  emotion,  though  quickly  veiled  by  low- 
ered lashes.  Slowly  enough  she  regained  color  and 
composure,  while  her  vis-a-vis  sat  motionless,  head  in- 
clined as  if  in  thought. 

Abruptly  the  man  turned  in  his  chair  to  summon 
a  waiter,  and  exposed  his  profile.  Kirkwood  was 
in  no  wise  amazed  to  recognize  Calendar  —  a  badly 
frightened  Calendar  now,  however,  and  hardly  to  be 
identified  with  the  sleek,  glib  fellow  who  had  inter- 
viewed Kirkwood  in  the  afternoon.  His  flabby  cheeks 
were  ashen  and  trembling,  and  upon  the  back  of  his 
chair  the  fat  white  fingers  were  drumming  inces- 
santly an  inaudible  tattoo  of  shattered  nerves. 

"  Scared  silly !  "  commented  Kirkwood.     "  Why?  " 

Having  spoken  to  his  waiter,  Calendar  for  some 
seconds  raked  the  room  with  quick  glances,  as  if 
seeking  an  acquaintance.  Presumably  disappointed, 
he  swung  back  to  face  the  girl,  bending  forward  to 
reach  her  ears  with  accents  low-pitched  and  con- 
fidential. She,  on  her  part,  fell  at  once  attentive, 
grave  and  responsive.  Perhaps  a  dozen  sentences 


ADVENTURES  33 

passed  between  them.  At  the  outset  her  brows  con- 
tracted and  she  shook  her  head  in  gentle  dissent; 
whereupon  Calendar's  manner  became  more  imper- 
ative. Gradually,  unwillingly,  she  seemed  to  yield 
consent.  Once  she  caught  her  breath  sharply,  and, 
infected  by  her  companion's  agitation,  sat  back,  color 
fading  again  in  the  round  young  cheeks. 

Kirkwood's  waiter  put  in  an  inopportune  appear- 
ance with  the  bill.  The  young  man  paid  it.  When 
he  looked  up  again  Calendar  had  swung  squarely 
about  in  his  chair.  His  eye  encountered  Kirkwood's. 
He  nodded  pleasantly.  Temporarily  confused,  Kirk- 
wood  returned  the  nod. 

In  a  twinkling  he  had  repented ;  Calendar  had  left 
his  chair  and  was  wending  his  way  through  the  tables 
toward  Kirkwood's.  Reaching  it,  he  paused,  offer- 
ing the  hand  of  genial  fellowship.  Kirkwood  ac- 
cepted it  half-heartedly  (what  else  was  he  to  do?) 
remarking  at  the  same  time  that  Calendar  had  re- 
covered much  of  his  composure.  There  was  now  a 
normal  coloring  in  the  heavily  jowled  countenance, 
with  less  glint  of  fear  in  the  quick,  dark  eyes :  and 
Calendar's  hand,  even  if  moist  and  cold,  no  longer 
trembled.  Furthermore  it  was  immediately  demon- 
strated that  his  impudence  had  not  deserted  him. 

"  Why,  Kirkwood,  my  dear  fellow ! "  he  crowed  — 
not  so  loudly  as  to  attract  attention,  but  in  a  tone 
assumed  to  divert  suspicion,  should  he  be  overheard. 


34  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  This  is  great  luck,  you  know  —  to  find  you  here." 

"  Is  it?  "  returned  Kirkwood  coolly.  He  disen- 
gaged his  fingers. 

The  pink  plump  face  was  contorted  in  a  furtive 
grimace  of  deprecation.  Without  waiting  for  per- 
mission Calendar  dropped  into  the  vacant  chair. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  he  proceeded,  unabashed,  "  I 
throw  myself  upon  your  mercy." 

"  The  devil  you  do !  " 

"  I  must.  I'm  in  the  deuce  of  a  hole,  and  there's 
no  one  I  know  here  besides  yourself.  I  —  I  — " 

Kirkwood  saw  fit  to  lead  him  on ;  partly  because, 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  he  was  aware  of  the 
girl's  unconcealed  suspense.  "  Go  on,  please,  Mr. 
Calendar.  You  throw  yourself  on  a  total  stranger's 
mercy  because  you're  in  the  deuce  of  a  hole ;  and  — ?  " 

"  It's  this  way ;  I'm  called  away  on  urgent  business 
—  imperative  business.  I  must  go  —  at  once.  My 
daughter  is  with  me  —  my  daughter !  Think  of 
my  embarrassment;  I  can  not  leave  her  here,  alone, 
nor  can  I  permit  her  to  go  home  unprotected." 

Calendar  paused  in  anxiety. 

"  That's  easily  remedied,  then,"  suggested  Kirk- 
wood. 

"How?" 

"  Put  her  in  a  cab  at  the  door." 

"I  .  .  .  No.  The  devil!  I  couldn't  think 
of  it.  You  won't  understand.  I — " 


ADVENTURES  35 

"  I  do  not  understand, — "  amended  the  younger 
man  politely. 

Calendar  compressed  his  lips  nervously.  It  was| 
plain  that  the  man  was  quivering  with  impatience 
and  half-mad  with  excitement.  He  held  quiet  only 
long  enough  to  regain  his  self-control  and  take  coun- 
sel with  his  prudence. 

"  It  is  impossible,  Mr.  Kirkwood.  I  must  ask  you 
to  be  generous  and  believe  me." 

"  Very  well ;  for  the  sake  of  the  argument,  I  do  be- 
lieve you,  Mr.  Calendar." 

"  Hell !  "  exploded  the  elder  man  in  an  undertone. 
Then  swiftly,  stammering  in  his  haste :  "  I  can't  let 
Dorothy  accompany  me  to  the  door,"  he  declared. 
"  She  —  I  —  I  throw  myself  upon  your  mercy  !  " 

"What  — again?" 

"  The  truth  —  the  truth  is,  if  you  will  have  it, 
that  I  am  in  danger  of  arrest  the  moment  I  leave  here. 
If  my  daughter  is  with  me,  she  will  have  to  endure 
the  shame  and  humiliation  — " 

"  Then  why  place  her  in  such  a  position  ?  "  Kirk- 
wood  demanded  sharply. 

Calendar's  eyes  burned,  incandescent  with  resent- 
ment. Offended,  he  offered  to  rise  and  go,  but 
changed  his  mind  and  sat  tight  in  hope. 

"  I  beg  of  you,  sir — ' 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Calendar." 

Abruptly   Kirkwood's   weathercock  humor   shifted 


36  THE  BLACK  BAG 

—  amusement  yielding  to  intrigued  interest.  After 
all,  why  not  oblige  the  fellow?  What  did  anything 
matter,  now?  What  harm,  could  visit  him  if  he 
yielded  to  this  corpulent  adventurer's  insistence? 
Both  from  experience  and  observation  he  knew  this 
for  a  world  plentifully  peopled  by  soldiers  of  for- 
tune, contrivers  of  snares  and  pitfalls  for  the  feet 
of  the  unwary.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  axiomatic 
that  a  penniless  man  is  perfectly  safe  anywhere. 
Besides,  there  was  the  girl  to  be  considered. 

Kirkwood  considered  her,  forthwith.  In  the  pro- 
cess thereof,  his  eyes  sought  her,  perturbed.  Their 
glances  clashed.  She  looked  away  hastily,  crimson 
to  her  temples. 

Instantly  the  conflict  between  curiosity  and 
caution,  inclination  and  distrust,  was  at  an  end. 
With  sudden  compliance,  the  young  man  rose. 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  be  of  service  to  your 
daughter,  Mr.  Calendar,"  he  said,  placing  the  em- 
phasis with  becoming  gravity.  And  then,  the  fat 
adventurer  leading  the  way,  Kirkwood  strode  across 
the  room  —  wondering  somewhat  at  himself,  if  the 
whole  truth  is  to  be  disclosed. 


Ill 

CALENDAR'S  DAUGHTER 

All  but  purring  with  satisfaction  and  relief,  Cal- 
endar halted. 

"  Dorothy,  my  dear,  permit  me  to  introduce  an  old 
friend  —  Mr.  Kirkwood.  Kirkwood,  this  is  my 
daughter." 

"  Miss   Calendar,"  acknowledged  Kirkwood. 

The  girl  bowed,  her  eyes,  steady  upon  his  own. 
"  Mr.  Kirkwood  is  very  kind,"  she  said  gravely. 

"  That's  right ! "  Calendar  exclaimed  blandly. 
"  He's  promised  to  see  you  home.  Now  both  of  you 
will  pardon  my  running  away,  I  know." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Kirkwood  agreeably. 

The  elder  man  turned  and  hurried  toward  the  main 
entrance. 

Kirkwood  took  the  chair  he  had  vacated.  To  his 
disgust  he  found  himself  temporarily  dumb.  No 
flicker  of  thought  illuminated  the  darkness  of  his 
confusion.  How  was  he  to  open  a  diverting  conver- 
sation with  a  young  woman  whom  he  had  met  under 
auspices  so  extraordinary?  Any  attempt  to  gloze 
the  situation,  he  felt,  would  be  futile.  And,  some- 

37 


38  THE  BLACK  BAG 

how,  he  did  not  care  to  render  himself  ridiculous  in 
her  eyes,  little  as  he  knew  her. 

Inanely  dumb,  he  sat  watching  her,  smiling  fatu- 
ously until  it  was  borne  in  on  him  that  he  was 
staring  like  a  boor  and  grinning  like  an  idiot.  Con- 
vinced, he  blushed  for  himself;  something  which 
served  to  make  him  more  tongue-tied  than  ever. 

As  for  his  involuntary  protegee,  she  exhibited  such 
sweet  composure  that  he  caught  himself  wondering  if 
she  really  appreciated  the  seriousness  of  her  parent's 
predicament ;  if,  for  that  matter,  its  true  nature  were 
known  to  her  at  all.  Calendar,  he  believed,  was 
capable  of  prevarication,  polite  and  impolite.  Had 
he  lied  to  his  daughter?  or  to  Kirkwood?  To  both, 
possibly ;  to  the  former  alone,  not  improbably.  That 
the  adventurer  had  told  him  the  desperate  truth, 
Kirkwood  was  quite  convinced;  but  he  now  began  to 
believe  that  the  girl  had  been  put  off  with  some  fic- 
titious explanation.  Her  tranquillity  and  self-con- 
trol were  remarkable,  otherwise;  she  seemed  very 
young  to  possess  those  qualities  in  such  eminent  de- 
gree. 

She  was  looking  wearily  past  him,  her  gaze  prob- 
ing some  unguessed  abyss  of  thought.  Kirkwood 
felt  himself  privileged  to  stare  in  wonder.  Pier 
naive  aloofness  of  poise  gripped  his  imagination 
powerfully, —  the  more  so,  perhaps,  since  it  seemed 
eloquent  of  her  intention  to  remain  enigmatic, —  but 


39 

by  no  means  more  powerfully  than  the  unaided 
appeal  of  her  loveliness. 

Presently  the  girl  herself  relieved  the  tension  of 
the  situation,  fairly  startling  the  young  man  by  go- 
ing straight  to  the  heart  of  things.  Without  pref- 
ace or  warning,  lifting  her  gaze  to  his,  "  My  name 
is  really  Dorothy  Calendar,"  she  observed.  And 
then,  noting  his  astonishment,  "  You  would  be  priv- 
ileged to  doubt,  under  the  circumstances,"  she  added. 
"  Please  let  us  be  frank." 

"Well,"  he  stammered,  "if  I  didn't  doubt,  let's 
say  I  was  unprejudiced." 

His  awkward,  well-meant  pleasantry,  perhaps  not 
conceived  in  the  best  of  taste,  sounded  in  his  own  ears 
wretchedly  flat  and  vapid.  He  regretted  it  spon- 
taneously ;  the  girl  ignored  it. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  iterated  the  first  words 
he  had  heard  from  her  lips.  "  I  wish  you  to  under- 
stand that  I,  for  one,  appreciate  it." 

"  Not  kind ;  I  have  done  nothing.  I  am  glad. 
One  is  apt  to  become  interested  when 
Romance  is  injected  into  a  prosaic  existence."  Kirk- 
wood  allowed  himself  a  keen  but  cheerful  glance. 

She  nodded,  with  a  shadowy  smile.  He  continued, 
purposefully,  to  distract  her,  holding  her  with  his 
honest,  friendly  eyes. 

"  Since  it  is  to  be  confidences  "  (this  she  questioned 
with  an  all  but  imperceptible  lifting  of  the  eye- 


40  THE  BLACK  BAG 

brows),  "  I  don't  mind  telling  you  my  own  name  is 
really  Philip  Kirkwood." 

"  And  you  are  an  old  friend  of  my  father's  ?  " 

He  opened  his  lips,  but  only  to  close  them  without 
speaking.  The  girl  moved  her  shoulders  with  a 
shiver  of  disdain. 

"  I  knew  it  wasn't  so." 

"  You  know  it  would  be  hard  for  a  young  man 
like  myself  to  be  a  very  old  friend,"  he  countered 
lamely. 

"  How  long,  then,  have  you  known  each  other?  " 

"Must  I  answer?" 

"  Please." 

"  Between  three   and   four  hours." 

"  I  thought  as  much."  She  stared  past  him, 
troubled.  Abruptly  she  said :  "  Please  smoke." 

"  Shall  I?     If  you  wish  it,  of  course     .      .     .  " 

She  repeated :  "  Please." 

"  We  were  to  wait  ten  minutes  or  so,"  she  con- 
tinued. 

He  produced  his  cigarette-case. 

"  If  you  care  to  smoke  it  will  seem  an  excuse." 
He  lighted  his  cigarette.  "  And  then,  you  may  talk 
to  me,"  she  concluded  calmly. 

"  I  would,  gladly,  if  I  could  guess  what  would 
interest  you." 

"  Yourself.  Tell  me  about  yourself,"  she  com- 
manded. 


CALENDAR'S  DAUGHTER  41 

"  It  would  bore  you,"  he  responded  tritely,  con- 
fused. 

"  No ;  you  interest  me  very  much."  She  made  the 
statement  quietly,  contemptuous  of  coquetry. 

"  Very  well,  then ;  I  am  Philip  Kirkwood,  an 
American." 

"  Nothing  more  ?  " 

"  Little  worth  retailing." 

"  I'm  sorry." 

"  Why  ?  "  he  demanded,  piqued. 

"  Because  you  have  merely  indicated  that  you  are 
a  wealthy  American." 

"Why  wealthy?" 

"  If  not,  you  would  have  some  aim  in  life  —  a  call- 
ing or  profession." 

"  And  you  think  I  have  none  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  consider  it  your  vocation  to  be  a 
wealthy  American." 

"  I  don't.  Besides,  I'm  not  wealthy.  In  point  of 
fact,  I  ..."  He  pulled  up  short,  on  the  verge 
of  declaring  himself  a  pauper.  "  I  am  a  painter." 

Her  eyes  lightened  with  interest.     "  An  artist?  " 

"  I  hope  so.  I  don't  paint  signs  —  or  houses,"  he 
remarked. 

Amused,  she  laughed  softly.  "  I  suspected  it," 
she  declared. 

"Not  really?" 

"  It  was  your  way  of  looking  at  —  things,  that 


42  THE  BLACK  BAG 

made  me  guess  it:  the  painter's  way.  I  have  often 
noticed  it." 

"As  if  mentally  blending  colors  all  the  time  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  that  and  —  seeing  flaws." 

"  I  have  discovered  none,"  he  told  her  brazenly. 

But  again  her  secret  cares  were  claiming  her 
thoughts,  and  the  gay,  inconsequential  banter  died 
upon  her  scarlet  lips  as  a  second  time  her  glance 
ranged  away,  sounding  mysterious  depths  of  anxiety. 

Provoked,  he  would  have  continued  the  chatter. 
"  I  have  confessed,"  he  persisted.  "  You  know  every- 
thing of  material  interest  about  me.  And  your- 
self? " 

"  I  am  merely  Dorothy  Calendar,"  she  answered. 

"  Nothing  more?  "     He  laughed. 

"  That  is  all,  if  you  please,  for  the  present." 

"  I  am  to  content  myself  with  the  promise  of  the 
future?  " 

"  The  future,"  she  told  him  seriously,  "  is  to-mor- 
row; and  to-morrow  .  .  ."  She  moved  rest- 
lessly in  her  chair,  eyes  and  lips  pathetic  in  their 
distress.  "  Please,  we  will  go  now,  if  you  are 
ready." 

"  I  am  quite  ready,  Miss  Calendar." 

He  rose.  A  waiter  brought  the  girl's  cloak  and 
put  it  in  Kirkwood's  hands.  He  held  it  until, 
smoothing  the  wrists  of  her  long  white  gloves,  she 
stood  up,  then  placed  the  garment  upon  her  white 


CALENDAR'S  DAUGHTER  43 

young  shoulders,  troubled  by  the  indefinable  sense 
of  intimacy  imparted  by  the  privilege.  She  per- 
mitted him  this  personal  service!  He  felt  that  she 
trusted  him,  that  out  of  her  gratitude  had  grown 
a  simple  and  almost  childish  faith  in  his  generosity 
and  considerateness. 

As  she  turned  to  go  her  eyes  thanked  him  with  an 
unfathomable  glance.  He  was  again  conscious  of 
that  esoteric  disturbance  in  his  temples.  Puzzled, 
hazily  analyzing  the  sensation,  he  followed  her  to  the 
lobby. 

A  page  brought  him  his  top-coat,  hat  and  stick; 
tipping  the  child  from  sheer  force  of  habit,  he  de- 
sired a  gigantic  porter,  impressively  ornate  in  hotel 
livery,  to  call  a  hansom.  Together  they  passed  out 
into  the  night,  he  and  the  girl. 

Beneath  a  permanent  awning  of  steel  and  glass 
she  waited  patiently,  slender,  erect,  heedless  of  the 
attention  she  attracted  from  wayfarers. 

The  night  was  young,  the  air  mild.  Upon  the 
sidewalk,  muddied  by  a  million  feet,  two  streams  of 
wayfarers  flowed  incessantly,  bound  west  from  Green 
Park  or  east  toward  Piccadilly  Circus;  a  well-dressed 
throng  for  the  most  part,  with  here  and  there  a  man 
in  evening  dress.  Between  the  carriages  at  the  curb 
and  the  hotel  doors  moved  others,  escorting  fluttering 
butterfly  women  in  elaborate  toilets,  heads  bare,  skirts 
daintily  gathered  above  their  perishable  slippers. 


44  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Here  and  there  meaner  shapes  slipped  silently  through 
the  crowd,  sinister  shadows  of  the  city's  proletariat, 
blotting  ominously  the  brilliance  of  the  scene. 

A  cab  drew  in  at  the  block.  The  porter  clapped 
an  arc  of  wickerwork  over  its  wheel  to  protect  the 
girl's  skirts.  She  ascended  to  the  seat. 

Kirkwood,  dropping  sixpence  in  the  porter's  palm, 
prepared  to  follow;  but  a  hand  fell  upon  his  arm, 
peremptory,  inexorable.  He  faced  about,  frowning, 
to  confront  a  slight,  hatchet-faced  man,  somewhat 
under  medium  height,  dressed  in  a  sack  suit  and 
wearing  a  derby  well  forward  over  eyes  that  were 
hard  and  bright. 

"  Mr.  Calendar?  "  said  the  man  tensely.  "  I  pre- 
sume I  needn't  name  my  business.  I'm  from  the 
Yard—" 

"  My  name  is  not  Calendar." 

The  detective  smiled  wearily.  "  Don't  be  a  fool, 
Calendar,"  he  began.  But  the  porter's  hand  fell 
upon  his  shoulder  and  the  giant  bent  low  to  bring 
his  mouth  close  to  the  other's  ear.  Kirkwood  heard 
indistinctly  his  own  name  followed  by  Calendar's,  and 
the  words :  "  Never  fear.  I'll  point  him  out." 

"  But  the  woman  ?  "  argued  the  detective,  uncon- 
vinced, staring  into  the  cab. 

"  Am  I  not  at  liberty  to  have  a  lady  dine  with  me 
in  a  public  restaurant?  "  interposed  Kirkwood,  with- 
out raising  his  voice. 


CALENDAR'S  DAUGHTER  45 

The  hard  eyes  looked  him  up  and  down  without 
favor.  Then :  "  Beg  pardon,  sir.  I  see  my  mis- 
take," said  the  detective  brusquely. 

"  I  am  glad  you  do,"  returned  Kirkwood  grimly. 
"  I  fancy  it  will  bear  investigation." 

He  mounted  the  step.  "  Imperial  Theater,"  he 
told  the  driver,  giving  the  first  address  that  occurred 
to  him;  it  could  be  changed.  For  the  moment  the 
main  issue  was  to  get  the  girl  out  of  the  range  of  the 
detective's  interest. 

He  slipped  into  his  place  as  the  hansom  wheeled 
into  the  turgid  tide  of  west-bound  traffic. 

So  Calendar  had  escaped,  after  all !  Moreover,  he 
had  told  the  truth  to  Kirkwood. 

By  his  side  the  girl  moved  uneasily.  "  Who  was 
that  man  ?  "  she  inquired. 

Kirkwood  sought  her  eyes,  and  found  them  wholly 
ingenuous.  It  seemed  that  Calendar  had  not  taken 
her  into  his  confidence,  after  all.  She  was,  therefore, 
in  no  way  implicated  in  her  father's  affairs.  Inex- 
plicably the  young  man's  heart  felt  lighter.  "  A 
mistake;  the  fellow  took  me  for  some  one  he  knew," 
he  told  her  carelessly. 

The  assurance  satisfied  her.  She  rested  quietly, 
wrapped  up  in  personal  concerns.  Her  companion 
pensively  contemplated  an  infinity  of  arid  and 
hansom-less  to-morrows.  About  them  the  city 
throbbed  in  a  web  of  misty  twilight,  the  humid  fare- 


46  THE  BLACK  BAG 

well  of  a  dismal  day.  In  the  air  a  faint  haze  swam, 
rendering  the  distances  opalescent.  Athwart  the  west- 
ern sky  the  after-glow  of  a  drenched  sunset  lay  like 
a  wash  of  rose-madder.  Piccadilly's  asphalt  shone 
like  watered  silk,  black  and  lustrous,  reflecting  a 
myriad  lights  in  vibrant  ribbons-  of  party-colored 
radiance.  On  every  hand  cab-lamps  danced  like  fire- 
flies ;  the  rumble  of  wheels  blended  with  the  hollow 
pounding  of  uncounted  hoofs,  merging  insensibly  into 
the  deep  and  solemn  roar  of  London- town. 

Suddenly  Kirkwood  was  recalled  to  a  sense  of  duty 
by  a  glimpse  of  Hyde  Park  Corner.  He  turned  to 
the  girl.  "  I  didn't  know  where  you  wished  to 
go—?" 

She  seemed  to  realize  his  meaning  with  surprise, 
as  one,  whose  thoughts  have  strayed  afar,  recalled  to 
an  imperative  world. 

"  Oh,  did  I  forget?  Tell  him  please  to  drive  to 
Number  Nine,  Frognall  Street,  Bloomsbury." 

Kirkwood  poked  his  cane  through  the  trap,  repeat- 
ing the  address.  The  cab  wheeled  smartly  across 
Piccadilly,  swung  into  Half  Moon  Street,  and 
thereafter  made  better  time,  darting  briskly  down 
abrupt  vistas  of  shining  pavement,  walled  in  by 
blank-visaged  houses,  or  round  two  sides  of  one  of 
London's  innumerable  private  parks,  wherein  spring 
foliage  glowed  a  tender  green  in  artificial  light ;  now 
and  again  it  crossed  brilliant  main  arteries  of  travel, 


CALENDAR'S  DAUGHTER  47 

and  eventually  emerged  from  a  maze  of  backways  into 
Oxford  Street,  to  hammer  eastwards  to  Tottenham 
Court  Road. 

Constraint  hung  like  a  curtain  between  the  two ;  a 
silence  which  the  young  man  forbore  to  moderate, 
finding  more  delight  that  he  had  cared  (or  dared) 
confess  to,  in  contemplation  of  the  pure  girlish  pro- 
file so  close  to  him. 

She  Seemed  quite  unaware  of  him,  lost  in  thought, 
large  eyes  sober,  lips  serious  that  were  fashioned  for 
laughter,  round  little  chin  firm  with  some  occult  reso- 
lution. It  was  not  hard  to  fancy  her  nerves  keyed 
to  a  high  pitch  of  courage  and  determination,  nor 
easy  to  guess  for  what  reason.  Watching  always, 
keenly  sensitive  to  the  beauty  of  each  salient  line  be- 
trayed by  the  flying  lights,  Kirkwood's  own  con- 
sciousness lost  itself  in  a  profitless,  even  a  perilous 
labyrinth  of  conjecture. 

The  cab  stopped.  Both  occupants  came  to  their 
senses  with  a  little  start.  The  girl  leaned  out  over 
the  apron,  recognized  the  house  she  sought  in  one 
swift  glance,  testified  to  the  recognition  with  a  hushed 
exclamation,  and  began  to  arrange  her  skirts.  Kirk- 
wood,  unheeding  her  faint-hearted  protests,  jumped 
out,  interposing  his  cane  between  her  skirts  and  the 
wheel.  Simultaneously  he  received  a  vivid  mental 
photograph  of  the  locality. 

Frognall  Street  proved  to  be  one  of  those  by-ways, 


48  THE  BLACK  BAG 

a  short  block  in  length,  which,  hemmed  in  on  all  sides 
by  a  meaner  purlieu,  has  (even  in  Bloomsbury!) 
escaped  the  sordid  commercial  eye  of  the  keeper  of 
furnished  lodgings,  retaining  jealously  something  of 
the  old-time  dignity  and  reserve  that  were  its  pride 
in  the  days  before  Society  swarmed  upon  Mayfair 
and  Belgravia. 

Its  houses  loomed  tall,  with  many  windows,  mostly 
lightless  —  materially  aggravating  that  air  of 
isolate,  cold  dignity  which  distinguishes  the  English- 
man's castle.  Here  and  there  stood  one  less  bedrag- 
gled than  its  neighbors,  though  all,  without  exception, 
spoke  assertively  of  respectability  down-at-thc-heel 
but  fighting  tenaciously  for  existence.  Some,  van- 
guards of  that  imminent  day  when  the  boarding- 
house  should  reign  supreme,  wore  with  shamefaced 
air  placards  of  estate-agents,  advertising  their  sus- 
ceptibility to  sale  or  lease.  In  the  company  of  the 
latter  was  Number  9. 

The  American  noted  the  circumstance  subcon- 
sciously, at  a  moment  when  Miss  Calendar's  hand, 
small  as  a  child's,  warm  and  compact  in  its  white 
glove,  lay  in  his  own.  And  then  she  was  on  the  side- 
walk, her  face,  upturned  to  his,  vivacious  with  excite- 
ment. 

"  You  have  been  so  kind,"  she  told  him  warmly, 
"  that  one  hardly  Joiows  how  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Kirk- 
wood." 


CALENDAR'S  DAUGHTER  49 

"  I  have  done  nothing  —  nothing  at  all,"  he  mum- 
bled, disturbed  by  a  sudden,  unreasoning  alarm  for 
her. 

She  passed  quickly  to  the  shelter  of  the  pillared 
portico.  He  followed  clumsily.  On  the  door-step 
she  turned,  offering  her  hand.  He  took  and  retained 
it. 

"  Good  night,"  she  said. 

"  I'm  to  understand  that  I'm  dismissed,  then?  "  he 
stammered  ruefully. 

She  evaded  his  eyes.  "  I  —  thank  you  —  I  have  no 
further  need  — " 

"  You  are  quite  sure?  Won't  you  believe  me  at 
your  service?  " 

She  laughed  uneasily.     "  I'm  all  right  now." 

"  I  can  do  nothing  more?     Sure?  " 

"  Nothing.  But  you  —  you  make  me  almost  sorry 
I  can't  impose  still  further  upon  your  good  nature." 

"  Please  don't  hesitate     ..." 

"  Aren't  you  very  persistent,  Mr.  Kirkwood? " 
Her  fingers  moved  in  his;  burning  with  the  reproof, 
he  released  them,  and  turned  to  her  so  woebegone  a 
countenance  that  she  repented  of  her  severity. 
"  Don't  worry  about  me,  please.  I  am  truly  safe 
now.  Some  day  I  hope  to  be  able  to  thank  you  ade- 
quately. Good  night  I" 

Her  pass-key  grated  in  the  lock.  Opening,  the 
door  disclosed  a  dark  and  uninviting  entry-hall, 


50  THE  BLACK  BAG 

through  which  there  breathed  an  air  heavy  with  the 
dank  and  dusty  odor  of  untenanted  rooms.  Hesi- 
tating on  the  threshold,  over  her  shoulder  the  girl 
smiled  kindly  upon  her  commandeered  esquire;  and 
stepped  within. 

He  lifted  his  hat  automatically.  The  door  closed 
with  an  echoing  slam.  He  turned  to  the  waiting  cab, 
fumbling  for  change. 

"  I'll  walk,"  he  told  the  cabby,  paying  him  off. 

The  hansom  swept  away  to  a  tune  of  hammering 
hoofs ;  and  quiet  rested  upon  the  street  as  Kirkwood 
turned  the  nearest  corner,  in  an  unpleasant  temper, 
puzzled  and  discontented.  It  seemed  hardly  fair 
that  he  should  have  been  dragged  into  so  promising 
an  adventure,  by  his  ears  (so  to  put  it),  only  to  be 
thus  summarily  called  upon  to  write  "  Finis "  be- 
neath the  incident. 

He  rounded  the  corner  and  walked  half-way  to  the 
next  street,  coming  to  an  abrupt  and  rebellious  pause 
by  the  entrance  to  a  covered  alleyway,  of  two  minds 
as  to  his  proper  course  of  action. 

In  the  background  of  his  thoughts  Number  9, 
Frognall  Street,  reared  its  five-story  fa9ade,  sinister 
and  forbidding.  He  reminded  himself  of  its  un- 
lighted  windows ;  of  its  sign,  "  To  be  let " ;  of  the 
effluvia  of  desolation  that  had  saluted  him  when  the 
door  swung  wide.  A  deserted  house;  and  the  girl 
alone  in  it !  —  was  it  right  for  him  to  leave  her  so? 


IV 

9    FROGNALL    STREET,  W.    C. 

The  covered  alleyway  gave  upon  Quadrant  Mews ; 
or  so  declared  a  notice  painted  on  the  dead  wall  of  the 
passage. 

Overhead,  complaining  as  it  swayed  in  the  wind, 
hung  the  smirched  and  weather-worn  sign-board  of 
the  Hog-in-the-Pound  public  house;  wherefrom  es- 
caped sounds  of  such  revelry  by  night  as  is  indulged 
in  by  the  British  working-man  in  hours  of  ease. 
At  the  curb  in  front  of  the  house  of  entertainment, 
dejected  animals  drooping  between  their  shafts,  two 
hansoms  stood  in  waiting,  until  such  time  as  the  lords 
of  their  destinies  should  see  fit  to  sally  forth  and 
inflict  themselves  upon  a  cab-hungry  populace.  As 
Kirkwood  turned,  a  third  vehicle  rumbled  up  out  of 
the  mews. 

Kirkwood  can  close  his  eyes,  even  at  this  late  day, 
and  both  see  and  hear  it  all  again  —  even  as  he  can 
see  the  unbroken  row  of  dingy  dwellings  that  lined 
his  way  back  from  Quadrant  Mews  to  Frognall 
Street  corner:  all  drab  and  unkempt,  all  sporting 

51 


52  THE  BLACK  BAG 

in  their  fan-lights  the  legend  and  lure,  "  Furnished 
Apartments." 

For,  between  his  curiosity  about  and  his  concern 
for  the  girl,  he  was  being  led  back  to  Number  9,  by 
the  nose,  as  it  were,, —  hardly  willingly,  at  best.  Pro- 
foundly stupefied  by  the  contemplation  of  his  own 
temerity,  he  yet  returned  unfaltering.  He  who  had 
for  so  long  plumed  himself  upon  his  strict  super- 
vision of  his  personal  affairs  and  equally  steadfast 
unconsciousness  of  his  neighbor's  businesses,  now 
found  himself  in  the  very  act  of  pushing  in  where 
he  was  not  wanted:  as  he  had  been  advised  in  well- 
nigh  as  many  words.  He  experienced  an  effect  of 
standing  to  one  side,  a  witness  of  his  own  folly,  with 
rising  wonder,  unable  to  credit  the  strength  of  the 
infatuation  which  was  placing  him  so  conspicuously 
in  the  way  of  a  snubbing. 

If  perchance  he  were  to  meet  the  girl  again  as  she 
was  leaving  Number  9, —  what  then?  The  contin- 
gency dismayed  him  incredibly,  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  it  did  not  avail  to  make  him  pause.  To  the 
contrary  he  disregarded  it  resolutely ;  mad,  imperti- 
nent, justified  of  his  unnamed  apprehensions,  or  sim- 
ply addled, —  he  held  on  his  way. 

He  turned  up  Frognall  Street  with  the  manner  of 
one  out  for  a  leisurely  evening  stroll.  Simultane- 
ously, from,  the  farther  corner,  another  pedestrian 
debouched  into  the  thoroughfare  —  a  mere  moving 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.          53 

shadow  at  that  distance,  brother  to  blacker  shadows 
that  skulked  in  the  fenced  areas  and  unlively  entries 
of  that  poorly  lighted  block.  The  hush  was  some- 
thing1 beyond  belief,  when  one  remembered  the  near- 
ness of  blatant  Tottenham  Court  Road. 

Kirkwood  conceived  a  wholly  senseless  curiosity 
about  the  other  wayfarer.  The  man  was  walking 
rapidly,  heels  ringing  with  uncouth  loudness,  cane 
tapping  the  flagging  at  brief  intervals.  Both 
sounds  ceased  abruptly  as  their  cause  turned  in  be- 
neath one  of  the  porticos.  In  the  emphatic  and 
unnatural  quiet  that  followed,  Kirkwood,  stepping 
more  lightly,  fancied  that  another  shadow  followed 
the  first,  noiselessly  and  with  furtive  stealth. 

Could  it  be  Number  9  into  which  they  had  passed? 
The  American's  heart  beat  a  livelier  tempo  at  the 
suggestion.  If  it  had  not  been  Number  9  —  he  was 
still  too  far  away  to  tell  —  it  was  certainly  one  of  the 
dwellings  adjacent  thereunto.  The  improbable  pos- 
sibility (But  why  improbable?)  that  the  girl  was 
being  joined  by  her  father,  or  by  friends,  annoyed 
him  with  illogical  intensity.  He  mended  his  own 
pace,  designing  to  pass  whichever  house  it  might  be 
before  the  door  should  be  closed;  thought  better  of 
this,  and  slowed  up  again,  anathematizing  himself 
with  much  excuse  for  being  the  inquisitive  dolt  that 
he  was. 

Approaching   Number    9    with   laggard    feet,   he 


54  THE  BLACK  BAG 

manufactured  a  desire  to  light  a  cigarette,  as  a  cover 
for  his  design,  were  he  spied  upon  by  unsuspected 
eyes.  Cane  under  arm,  hands  cupped  to  shield  a 
(vesta's  flame,  he  stopped  directly  before  the  portico, 
turning  his  eyes  askance  to  the  shadowed  doorway; 
and  made  a  discovery  sufficiently  startling  to  hold 
him  spellbound  and,  incidentally,  to  scorch  his  gloves 
before  he  thought  to  drop  the  match. 

The  door  of  Number  9  stood  ajar,  a  black  interval 
an  inch  or  so  in  width  showing  between  its  edge  and 
the  jamb. 

Suspicion  and  alarm  set  his  wits  a-tingle.  More 
distinctly  he  recalled  the  jarring  bang,  accompanied 
by  the  metallic  click  of  the  latch,  when  the  girl  had 
shut  herself  in  —  and  him  out.  Now,  some  person  or 
persons  had  followed  her,  neglecting  the  most  obvi- 
ous precaution  of  a  householder.  And  why?  Why 
but  because  the  intruders  did  not  wish  the  sound  of 
closing  to  be  audible  to  her  —  or  those  —  within? 

He  reminded  himself  that  it  was  all  none  of  his 
affair,  decided  to  pass  on  and  go  his  ways  in  peace, 
and  impulsively  swinging  about,  marched  straight 
away  for  the  unclosed  door. 

"'Old  'ard,  guvner!" 

Kirkwood  halted  on  the  cry,  faltering  in  inde- 
cision. Should  he  take  the  plunge,  or  withdraw? 
Synchronously  he  was  conscious  that  a  man's  figure 
had  detached  itself  from  the  shadows  beneath  the 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.  55 

nearest  portico  and  was  drawing  nearer,  with  every 
indication  of  haste,  to  intercept  him. 

"  'Ere  now,  guvner,  yer  mykin'  a  mistyke.  You 
don't  live  'ere." 

"  How  do  you  know  ? "  demanded  Kirkwood 
crisply,  tightening  his  grip  on  his  stick. 

Was  this  the  second  shadow  he  had  seemed  to  see 
—  the  confederate  of  him  who  had  entered  Number  9  ; 
a  sentry  to  forestall  interruption?  If  so,  the  fellow 
lacked  discretion,  though  his  determination  that  the 
American  should  not  interfere  was  undeniable.  It 
was  with  an  ugly  and  truculent  manner,  if  more  war- 
ily, that  the  man  closed  in. 

"  7  knows.     You  clear  hout,  or  — " 

He  flung  out  a  hand  with  the  plausible  design  of 
grasping  Kirkwood  by  the  collar.  The  latter  lifted 
his  stick,  deflecting  the  arm,  and  incontinently  landed 
his  other  fist  forcibly  on  the  fellow's  chest.  The  man 
reeled  back,  cursing.  Before  he  could  recover  Kirk- 
wood calmly  crossed  the  threshold,  closed  the  door 
and  put  his  shoulder  to  it.  In  another  instant, 
fumbling  in  the  darkness,  he  found  the  bolts  and 
drove  them  home. 

And  it  was  done,  the  transformation  accomplished ; 
his  inability  to  refrain  from  interfering  had  encom- 
passed his  downfall,  had  changed  a  peaceable  and 
law-abiding  alien  within  British  shores  into  a  busy- 
body, a  trespasser,  a  misdemeanant,  a  —  yes,  for  all 


56  THE  BLACK  BAG 

he  knew  to  the  contrary,  in  the  estimation  of  the 
Law,  a  burglar,  prime  candidate  for  a  convict's 
stripes ! 

Breathing  hard  with  excitement  he  turned  and  laid 
his  back  against  the  panels,  trembling  in  every  muscle, 
terrified  by  the  result  of  his  impulsive  audacity, 
thunder-struck  by  a  lightning-like  foreglimpse  of  its 
possible  consequences.  Of  what  colossal  imprudence 
had  he  not  been  guilty? 

"  The  devil !  "  he  whispered.  "  What  an  ass, 
what  an  utter  ass  I  am !  " 

Behind  him  the  knob  was  rattled  urgently,  to  an 
accompaniment  of  feet  shuffling1  on  the  stone;  and 
immediately  —  if  he  were  to  make  a  logical  deduction 
from  the  rasping  and  scraping  sound  within  the 
door-casing  —  the  bell-pull  was  violently  agitated, 
without,  however,  educing  any  response  from  the  bell 
itself,  wherever  that  might  be  situate.  After  which, 
as  if  in  despair,  the  outsider  again  rattled  and  jerked 
the  knob. 

Be  his  status  what  it  might,  whether  servant  of  the 
household,  its  caretaker,  or  a  night  watchman,  the 
man  was  palpably  determined  both  to  get  himself  in 
and  Kirkwood  out,  and  yet  (curious  to  consider)  de- 
termined to  gain  his  end  without  attracting  undue 
attention.  Kirkwood  had  expected  to  hear  the 
knocker's  thunder,  as  soon  as  the  bell  failed  to  give 
tongue;  but  it  did  not  sound,  although  there  was  a 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.  57 

knocker, —  Kirkwood  himself  had  remarked  that  anti- 
quated and  rusty  bit  of  ironmongery  affixed  to  the 
middle  panel  of  the  door.  And  it  made  him  feel  sure 
that  something  surreptitious  and  lawless  was  in  proc- 
ess within  those  walls,  that  the  confederate  without, 
having  failed  to  prevent  a  stranger  from  entering, 
left  unemployed  a  means  so  certain-sure  to  rouse  the 
occupants. 

But  his  inferential  analysis  of  this  phase  of  the 
proceedings  was  summarily  abrupted  by  that  identical 
alarm.  In  a  trice  the  house  was  filled  with  flying 
echoes,  wakened  to  sonorous  riot  by  the  crash  and 
clamor  of  the  knocker ;  and  Kirkwood  stood  fully  two 
yards  away,  his  heart  hammering  wildly,  his  nerves 
a-j  ingle,  much  as  if  the  resounding  blows  had  landed 
upon  his  own  person  rather  than  on  stout  oaken 
planking. 

Ere  he  had  time  to  wonder,  the  racket  ceased,  and 
from  the  street  filtered  voices  in  altercation.  Listen- 
ing, Kirkwood's  pulses  quickened,  and  he  laughed 
uncertainly  for  pure  relief,  retreating  to  the  door 
and  putting  an  ear  to  a  crack. 

The  accents  of  one  speaker  were  new  in  his  hear- 
ing, stern,  crisp,  quick  with  the  spirit  of  authority 
which  animates  that  most  austere  and  dignified  limb  of 
the  law  to  be  encountered  the  world  over,  a  London 
bobby. 

"Now  then,  my  man,  what  do  you  want  there? 


58  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Come  now,  speak  up,  and  step  out  into  the  light, 
where  I  can  see  you." 

The  response  came  in  the  sniffling  snarl  of  the  Lon- 
don ne'er-do-well,  the  unemployable  rogue  Avhose 
chiefest  occupation  seems  to  be  to  march  in  the  ranks 
of  The  Unemployed  on  the  occasion  of  its  annual 
demonstrations. 

"  Le'  me  alone,  carntcher?  Ah'm  doin'  no  'arm, 
officer, — 

"  Didn't  you  hear  me?  Step  out  here.  Ah,  that's 
better.  .  .  .  No  harm,  eh?  Perhaps  you'll  ex- 
plain how  there's  no  harm  breakin'  into  unoccupied 
'ouses  ? 

"  Gorblimy,  'ow  was  I  to  know?  'Ere's  a  toff 
'ands  me  sixpence  fer  hopenin'  'is  cab  door  to-dye, 
an',  sezee,  '  My  man,'  'e  sez,  '  yer've  got  a  'onest 
f y ce.  Wy  don'cher  work  ?  '  sezee.  '  'Ow  can  I  ?  ' 
sez  I.  *  'Ere  'm  I  hout  of  a  job  these  six  months, 
lookin'  fer  work  every  dye  an'  carn't  find  it.'  Sezee, 
4  Come  an'  see  me  this  hevenin'  at  me  home,  Noine, 
Frognall  Stryte,'  'e  sez,  an' — " 

"  That'll  do  for  now.  You  borrow  a  pencil  and 
paper  and  write  it  down  and  I'll  read  it  when  I've  got 
more  time;  I  never  heard  the  like  of  it.  This  'ouse 
hasn't  been  lived  in  these  two  years.  Move  on,  and 
don't  let  me  find  you  round  'ere  again.  March,  I 
say!" 

There  was  more  of  it  —  more  whining  explanations 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.  59 

artfully  tinctured  with  abuse,  more  terse  commands 
to  depart,  the  whole  concluding  with  scraping  foot- 
steps, diminuendo,  and  another  perfunctory,  rattle  of 
the  knob  as  the  bobby,  having  shoo'd  the  putative 
evil-doer  off,  assured  himself  that  no  damage  had 
actually  been  done.  Then  he,  too,  departed,  satisfied 
and  self-righteous,  leaving  a  badly  frightened  but 
very  grateful  amateur  criminal  to  pursue  his  self- 
appointed  career  of  crime. 

He  had  no  choice  other  than  to  continue ;  in  point 
of  fact,  it  had  been  insanity  just  then  to  back  out, 
and  run  the  risk  of  apprehension  at  the  hands  of  that 
ubiquitous  bobby,  who  (for  all  he  knew)  might  be 
lurking  not  a  dozen  yards  distant,  watchful  for  just 
such  a  sequel.  Still,  Kirkwood  hesitated  with  the 
best  of  excuses.  Reassuring  as  he  had  found  the 
sentinel's  extemporized  yarn, —  proof  positive  that 
the  fellow  had  had  no  more  right  to  prohibit  a  tres- 
pass than>  Kirkwood  to  commit  one, —  at  the  same  time 
he  found  himself  pardonably  a  prey  to  emotions  of 
the  utmost  consternation  and  alarm.  If  he  feared  to 
leave  the  house  he  had  no  warrant  whatever  to  as- 
sume that  he  would  be  permitted  to  remain  many 
minutes  unharmed  within  its  walls  of  mystery. 

The  silence  of  it  discomfited  him  beyond  measure; 
it  was,  in  a  word,  uncanny. 

Before  him,  as  he  lingered  at  the  door,  vaguely 
disclosed  by  a  wan  illumination  penetrating  a  dusty 


60  THE  BLACK  BAG 

and  begrimed  fan-light,  a  broad  hall  stretched  in- 
definitely towards  the  rear  of  the  building,  losing 
itself  in  blackness  beyond  the  foot  of  a  flight  of 
stairs.  Save  for  a  few  articles  of  furniture, —  a  hall 
table,  an  umbrella-stand,  a  tall  dumb  clock  flanked 
by  high-backed  chairs, —  it  was  empty.  Other  than 
Kirkwood's  owni  restrained  respiration  not  a  sound 
throughout  the  house  advertised  its  inhabitation ;  not 
a  board  creaked  beneath  the  pressure  of  a  foot,  not  a 
mouse  rustled  in  the  wainscoting  or  beneath  the  floors, 
not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  sighing  in  the  stillness. 

And  yet,  a  tremendous  racket  had  been  raised  at 
the  front  door,  within  the  sixty  seconds  past!  And 
yet,  within  twenty  minutes  two  persons,  at  least,  had 
preceded  Kirkwood  into  the  building !  Had  they  not 
heard?  The  speculation  seemed  ridiculous.  Or  had 
they  heard  and,  alarmed,  been  too  effectually  hobbled 
by  the  coils  of  their  nefarious  designs  to  dare  reveal 
themselves,  to  investigate  the  cause  of  that  thunder- 
ous summons?  Or  were  they,  perhaps,  aware  of 
Kirkwood's  entrance,  and  lying  perdu  in  some  dark 
corner,  to  ambush  him  as  he  passed? 

True,  that  were  hardly  like  the  girl.  True,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  were  possible  that  she  had  stolen 
away  while  Kirkwood  was  hanging  in  irresolution  by 
the  passage  to  Quadrant  Mews.  Again,  the  space 
of  time  between  Kirkwood's  dismissal  and  his  return 
had  been  exceedingly  brief ;  whatever  her  errand,  she 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.  61 

could  hardly  have  fulfilled  it  and  escaped.  At  that 
moment  she  might  be  in  the  power  and  at  the  mercy 
of  him  who  had  followed  her;  providing  he  were  not 
friendly.  And  in  that  case,  what  torment  and  what 
peril  might  not  be  hers? 

Spurred  by  solicitude,  the  young  man  put  per- 
sonal apprehensions  in  his  pocket  and  forgot  them, 
cautiously  picking  his  way  through  the  gloom  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  There,  by  the  newel-post,  he 
paused.  Darkness  walled  him  about.  Overhead  the 
steps  vanished  in  a  well  of  blackness ;  he  could  not 
even  see  the  ceiling ;  his  eyes  ached  with  futile  effort 
to  fathom  the  unknown;  his  ears  rang  with  unre- 
warded strain  of  listening.  The  silence  hung  invio- 
late, profound. 

Slowly  he  began  to  ascend,  a  hand  following  the 
balusters,  the  other  with  his  cane  exploring  the  ob- 
scurity before  him.  On  the  steps,  a  carpet,  thick 
and  heavy,  muffled  his  footfalls.  He  moved  noise- 
lessly. Towards  the  top  the  staircase  curved,  and 
presently  a  foot  that  groped  for  a  higher  level  failed 
to  find  it.  Again  he  halted,  acutely  distrustful. 

Nothing  happened. 

He  went  on,  guided  by  the  balustrade,  passing 
three  doors,  all  open,  through  which  the  undefined 
proportions  of  a  drawing-room  and  boudoir  were 
barely  suggested  in  a  ghostly  dusk.  By  each  he 
paused,  listening,  hearing  nothing. 


62  THE  BLACK  BAG 

His  foot  struck  with  a  deadened  thud  against  the 
bottom  step  of  the  second  flight,  and  his  pulses  flut- 
tered wildly  for  a  moment.  Two  minutes  —  three  — • 
he  waited  in  suspense.  From  above  came  no  sound. 
He  went  on,  as  before,  save  that  twice  a  step  yielded, 
complaining,  to  his  weight.  Toward  the  top  the 
close  air,  like  the  darkness,  seemed  to  weigh  more 
heavily  upon  his  consciousness ;  little  drops  of  per- 
spiration started  out  on  his  forehead,  his  scalp 
tingled,  his  mouth  was  hot  and  dry,  he  felt  as  if 
stifled. 

Again  the  raised  foot  found  no  level  higher  than 
its  fellows.  He  stopped  and  held  his  breath,  op- 
pressed by  a  conviction  that  some  one  was  near  him. 
Confirmation  of  this  came  startlingly  —  an  eerie  whis- 
per in  the  night,  so  close  to  him  that  he  fancied  he 
could  feel  the  disturbed  air  fanning  his  face. 

"  Is  it  you,  Eccles?  " 

He  had  no  answer  ready.  The  voice  was  mascu- 
line, if  he  analyzed  it  correctly.  Dumb  and  stupid 
he  stood  poised  upon  the  point  of  panic. 

"  Eccles,  is  it  you?  " 

The  whisper  was  both  shrill  and  shaky.  As  it 
ceased  Kirkwood  was  half  blinded  by  a  flash  of  light, 
striking  him  squarely  in  the  eyes.  Involuntarily  he 
shrank  back  a  pace,  to  the  first  step  from  the  top. 
Instantaneously  the  light  was  eclipsed. 

"  Halt  or  — or  I  fire!  " 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.  63 

By  now  he  realized  that  he  had  been  scrutinized  by 
the  aid  of  an  electric  hand-lamp.  The  tremulous 
whisper  told  him  something  else  —  that  the  speaker 
suffered  from  nerves  as  high-strung  as  his  own.  The 
knowledge  gave  him  inspiration.  He  cried  at  a  ven- 
ture, in  a  guarded  voice,  "  Hands  up!  " —  and  struck 
out  smartly  with  his  stick.  Its  ferrule  impinged  upon 
something  soft  but  heavy.  Simultaneously  he  heard 
a  low,  frightened  cry,  the  cane  was  swept  aside,  a 
blow  landed  glancingly  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  was 
carried  fairly  off  his  feet  by,  the  weight  of  a  man 
hurled  bodily  upon  him  with  staggering  force  and 
passion.  Reeling,  he  was  borne  back  and  down  a 
step  or  two,  and  then, —  choking  on  an  oath, — drop- 
ped his  cane  and  with  one  hand  caught  the  balusters, 
while  the  other  tore  ineffectually  at  wrists  of  hands 
that  clutched  his  throat.  So,  for  a  space,  the  two 
hung,  panting  and  struggling. 

Then  endeavoring  to  swing  his  shoulders  over 
against  the  wall,  Kirkwood  released  his  grip  on  the 
hand-rail  and  stumbled  on  the  stairs,  throwing  his 
antagonist  out  of  balance.  The  latter  plunged  down- 
ward, dragging  Kirkwood  with  him.  Clawing,  kick- 
ing, grappling,  they  went  to  the  bottom,  jolted  vio- 
lently by  each  step;  but  long  before  the  last  was 
reached,  Kirkwood's  throat  was  free. 

Throwing  himself  off,  he  got  to  his  feet  and 
grasped  the  railing  for  support;  then  waited,  pant- 


64  THE  BLACK  BAG 

i 

ing,  trying  to  get  his  bearings.  Himself  painfully 
shaken  and  bruised,  he  shrewdly  surmised  that  his 
assailant  had  fared  as  ill,  if  not  worse.  And,  in 
point  of  fact,  the  man  lay  with  neither  move  nor 
moan,  still  as  death  at  the  American's  feet. 

And  once  more  silence  had  folded  its  wings  over 
Number  9,  Frognall  Street. 

More  conscious  of  that  terrifying,  motionless  pres- 
ence beneath  him,  than  able  to  distinguish  it  by  power 
of  vision,  he  endured  interminable  minutes  of  trem- 
bling horror,  in  a  witless  daze,  before  he  thought  of 
his  match-box.  Immediately  he  found  it  and  struck 
a  light.  As  the  wood  caught  and  the  bright  small 
flame  leaped  in  the  pent  air,  he  leaned  forward,  over 
the  body,  breathlessly  dreading  what  he  must  dis- 
cover. 

The  man  lay  quiet,  head  upon  the  floor,  legs  and 
hips  on  the  stairs.  One  arm  had  fallen  over  his 
face,  hiding  the  upper  half.  The  hand  gleamed 
white  and  delicate  as  a  woman's.  His  chin  was 
smooth  and  round,  his  lips  thin  and  petulant.  Be- 
neath his  top-coat,  evening  dress  clothed  a  short 
and  slender  figure.  Nothing  whatever  of  his  ap- 
pearance suggested  the  burly  ruffian,  the  midnight 
marauder;  he  seemed  little  more  than  a  boy  old 
enough  to  dress  for  dinner.  In  his  attitude  there  was 
something  pitifully  suggestive  of  a  beaten  child) 
thrown  into  a  corner. 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.  65 

Conscience-smitten  and  amazed  Kirkwood  stared  on 
until,  without  warning,  the  match  flickered  and  went 
out.  Then,  straightening  up  with  an  exclamation 
at  once  of  annoyance  and  concern,  he  rattled  the  box ; 
it  made  no  sound, —  was  empty.  In  disgust  he  swore, 
it  was  the  devil's  own  luck,  that  he  should  run  out 
of  vestas  at  a  time  so  critical.  He  could  not  even 
say  whether  the  fellow  was  dead,  unconscious,  or 
simply  shamming.  He  had  little  idea  of  his  looks; 
and  to  be  able  to  identify  him  might  save  a  deal  of 
trouble  at  some  future  time, —  since  he,  Kirkwood, 
seemed  so  little  able  to  disengage  himself  from  the 
clutches  of  this  insane  adventure !  And  the  girl  — 
what  had  become  of  her?  How  could  he  continue 
to  search  for  her,  without  lights  or  guide,  through 
all  those  silent  rooms,  whose  walls  might  inclose  a 
hundred  hidden  dangers  in  that  house  of  mystery? 

But  he  debated  only  briefly.  His  blood  was  young, 
and  it  was  hot;  it  was  quite  plain  to  him  that  he 
could  not  withdraw  and  retain  his  self-respect.  If 
the  girl  was  there  to  be  found,  most  assuredly, 
he  must  find  her.  The  hand-lamp  that  had  dazzled 
him  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  should  be  his  aid,  now 
that  he  thought  of  it, —  and  providing  he  was  able 
to  find  it. 

In  the  scramble  on  the  stairs  he  had  lost  his  hat, 
but  he  remembered  that  the  vesta's  short-lived  light 
had  discovered  this  on  the  floor  beyond  the  man's 


66  THE  BLACK  BAG 

body.  Carefully  stepping  across  the  latter  he  re- 
covered his  head-gear,  and  then,  kneeling,  listened 
with  an  ear  close  to  the  fellow's  face.  A  softly  reg- 
ular beat  of  breathing  reassured  him.  Half  rising, 
he  caught  the  body  beneath  the  armpits,  lifting  and 
dragging  it  off  the  staircase ;  and  knelt  again,  to  feel 
of  each  pocket  in  the  man's  clothing,  partly  as  an 
obvious  precaution,  to  relieve  him  of  his  advertised 
revolver  against  an  untimely  wakening,  partly  to 
see  if  he  had  the  lamp  about  him. 

The  search  proved  fruitless.  Kirkwood  suspected 
that  the  weapon,  like  his  own,  had  existed  only  in 
his  victim's  ready  imagination.  As  for  the  lamp,  in 
the  act  of  rising  he  struck  it  with  his  foot,  and 
picked  it  up. 

It  felt  like  a  metal  tube  a  couple  of  inches  in 
diameter,  a  foot  or  so  in  length,  passably  heavy.  He 
fumbled  with  it  impatiently.  "  However  the  dickens," 
he  wondered  audibly,  "  does  the  infernal  machine 
work?  "  As  it  happened,  the  thing  worked  with  dis- 
concerting abruptness  as  his  untrained  fingers  fell 
hapchance  on  the  spring.  A  sudden  glare  again 
smote  him  in  the  face,  and  at  the  same  instant,  from 
a  point  not  a  yard  away,  apparently,  an  inarticulate 
cry  rang  out  upon  the  stillness. 

Heart  in  his  mouth,  he  stepped  back,  lowering  the 
lamp  (which  impishly  went  out)  and  lifting  a  pro- 
tecting forearm. 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.  67 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  he  demanded  harshly. 

A  strangled  sob  of  terror  answered  him,  blurred 
by  a  swift  rush  of  skirts,  and  in  a  breath  his  shat- 
tered nerves  quieted  and  a  glimmer  of  common  sense 
penetrated  the  murk  anger  and  fear  had  bred  in  his 
brain.  He  understood,  and  stepped  forward,  catch- 
ing blindly  at  the  darkness  with  eager  hands. 

"  Miss  Calendar !  "  he  cried  guardedly.  "  Miss  Cal- 
endar, it  is  I  —  Philip  Kirkwood !  " 

There  was  a  second  sob,  of  another  caliber  than  the 
first;  timid  fingers  brushed  his,  and  a  hand,  warm 
and  fragile,  closed  upon  his  own  in  a  passion  of  relief 
and  gratitude. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  g-glad !  "  It  was  Dorothy  Calen- 
dar's voice,  beyond  mistake.  "  I  —  I  didn't  know 
what  t-to  t-think.  .  .  ,  When  the  light  struck 
your  face  I  was  sure  it  was  you,  but  when  I  called, 
you  answered  in  a  voice  so  strange, —  not  like  yours 
at  all !  .  .  .  Tell  me,"  she  pleaded,  with  palpa- 
ble effort  to  steady  herself ;  "  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  I  think,  perhaps,"  said  Kirkwood  uneasily,  again 
troubled  by  his  racing  pulses,  "  perhaps  you  can  do 
that  better  than  I." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  the  voice  guiltily ;  her  fingers  trembled 
on  his,  and  were  gently  withdrawn.  "  I  was  so 
frightened,"  she  confessed  after  a  little  pause,  "  so 
frightened  that  I  hardly  understand  .  .  .  But 
you  ?  How  did  you  —  ?  " 


68  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  I  worried  about  you,"  he  replied,  in  a  tone  ab- 
surdly apologetic.  "  Somehow  it  didn't  seem  right. 
It  was  none  of  my  business,  of  course,  but 
I  couldn't  help  coming  back.  This  fellow,  whoever 
he  is  —  don't  worry ;  he's  unconscious  —  slipped  into 
the  house  in  a  manner  that  seemed  to  me  suspicious. 
I  hardly  know  why  I  followed,  except  that  he  left  the 
door  an  open  invitation  to  interference  .  .  ." 

"  I  can't  be  thankful  enough,"  she  told  him  warmly, 
"  that  you  did  interfere.  You  have  indeed  saved 
me  from  .  .  ." 

"Yes?" 

"  I  don't  know  what.     If  I  knew  the  man  — " 

"  You  don't  know  him  ?  " 

"  I  can't  even,  guess.     The  light  —  ?  " 

She  paused  inquiringly.  Kirkwood  fumbled  with 
the  lamp,  but,  whether  its  rude  handling  had  im- 
paired some  vital  part  of  the  mechanism,  or  whether 
the  batteries  through  much  use  were  worn  out,  he 
was  able  to  elicit  only  one  feeble  glow,  which  was 
instantly  smothered  by  the  darkness. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  confessed.  "  The  thing's  gone 
wrong." 

"  Have  you  a  match  ?  " 

"  I  used  my  last  before  I  got  hold  of  this." 

"  Oh,"  she  commented,  discouraged.  "  Have  you 
any  notion  what  he  looks  like?  " 

Kirkwood  thought  briefly.     "  Raffles,"  he  replied 


9  FROGNALL  STREET,  W.  C.  69 

with  a  chuckle.  "  He  looks  like  an  amateurish  and 
very  callow  Raffles.  He's  in  dress  clothes,  you 
know." 

"  I  wonder ! "  There  was  a  nuance  of  profound 
bewilderment  in  her  exclamation.  Then :  "  He 
knocked  against  something  in  the  hall  —  a  chair,  I 
presume;  at  all  events,  I  heard  that  and  put  out  the 
light.  I  was  ...  in  the  room  above  the  draw- 
ing-room, you  see.  I  stole  down  to  this  floor  —  was 
there,  in  the  corner  by  the  stairs  when  he  passed 
within  six  inches,  and  never  guessed  it.  Then,  when 
he  got  on  the  next  floor,  I  started  on ;  but  you  came 
in.  I  slipped  into  the  drawing-room  and  crouched 
behind  a  chair.  You  went  on,  but  I  dared  not  move 
until  .  .  .  And  then  I  heard  some  one  cry  out, 
and  you  fell  down  the  stairs  together.  I  hope  you 
were  not  hurt  —  ?  " 

"  Nothing  worth  mention ;  but  he  must  have  got  a 
pretty  stiff  knock,  to  lay  him  out  so  completely." 
Kirkwood  stirred  the  body  with  his  toe,  but  the  man 
made  no  sign.  "  Dead  to  the  world  .  .  .  And 
now,  Miss  Calendar?  " 

If  she  answered,  he  did  not  hear ;  for  on  the  heels 
of  his  query  banged  the  knocker  down  below;  and 
thereafter  crash  followed  crash,  brewing  a  deep  and 
sullen  thundering  to  rouse  the  echoes  and  send  them 
rolling,  like  voices  of  enraged  ghosts,  through  the 
lonely  rooms. 


THE   MYSTERY    OF    A    FOUR-WHEELER 

"  What's  that?  "  At  the  first  alarm  the  girl  had 
caught  convulsively  at  Kirkwood's  arm.  Now,  when 
a  pause  came  in  the  growling  of  the  knocker,  she 
made  him  hear  her  voice;  and  it  was  broken  and  vi- 
brant with  a  threat  of  hysteria.  "  Oh,  what  can  it 
mean  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  He  laid  a  hand  reassuringly 
over  that  which  trembled  on  hi*  forearm.  "  The  po- 
lice, possibly." 

"  Police !  "  she  iterated,  aghast.  "  What  makes 
you  think  • —  ?  " 

"  A  man  tried  to  stop  me  at  the  door,"  he  an- 
swered quickly.  "  I  got  in  before  he  could.  When 
he  tried  the  knocker,  a  bobby  came  along  and  stopped 
him.  The  latter  may  have  been  watching  the  house 
since  then, —  it'd  be  only  his  duty  to  keep  an  eye  on 
it;  and  Heaven  knows  we  raised  a  racket,  coming 
head-first  down  those  stairs !  Now  we  are  up  against 
it,"  he  added  brightly. 

But  the  girl  was  tugging  at  his  hand.  "  Come !  " 
70 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER       71 

she  begged  breathlessly.  * '  Come !  There  is  a  way ! 
Before  they  break  in — ' 

"But  this  man — ?"  Kirkwood  hung  back,  trou- 
bled. 

"They  —  the  police  are  sure  to  find  and  care  for 
him." 

' '  So  they  will. ' '  He  chuckled.  ' '  And  serve  him 
right !  He'd  have  choked  me  to  death,  with  all  the 
good  will  in  the  world ! ' ' 

"Oh,  do  hurry!" 

Turning,  she  sped  light-footed  down  the  staircase 
to  the  lower  hall,  he  at  her  elbow.  Here  the  uproar 
was  loudest  —  deep  enough  to  drown  whatever  sounds 
might  have  been  made  by  two  pairs  of  flying  feet. 
For  all  that  they  fled  on  tiptoe,  stealthily,  guilty 
shadows  in  the  night;  and  at  the  newel-post  swung 
back  into  the  unbroken  blackness  which  shrouded  the 
fastnesses  backward  of  the  dwelling.  A  sudden 
access  of  fury  on  the  part  of  the  alarmist  at  the 
knocker,  spurred  them  on  with  quaking  hearts.  In 
half  a  dozen  strides,  Kirkwood,  guided  only  by  in- 
stinct and  the  frou-frou  of  the  girl's  skirts  as  she 
ran  invisible  before  him,  stumbled  on  the  uppermost 
steps  of  a  steep  staircase ;  only  a  hand-rail  saved  him, 
and  that  at  the  last  moment.  He  stopped  short, 
shocked  into  caution.  From  below  came  a  contrite 
whisper:  "I'm  so  sorry!  I  should  have  warned 
you." 


72  THE  BLACK  BAG 

He  pulled  himself  together,  glaring  wildly  at 
nothing.  "  It's  all  right  — " 

"You're  not  hurt,  truly?     Oh,  do  come  quickly." 

She  waited  for  him  at  the  bottom  of  the  flight  — 
happily  for  him,  for  he  was  all  at  sea. 

"  Here  —  your  hand  —  let  me  guide  you.  This 
darkness  is  dreadful  .  .  ." 

He  found  her  hand,  somehow,  and  tucked  his  into 
it,  confidingly,  and  not  without  an  uncertain  thrill  of 
satisfaction. 

"  Come !  "  she  panted.  "  Come !  If  they  break 
in—" 

Stifled  by  apprehension,  her  voice  failed  her. 

They  went  forward,  now  less  impetuously,  for  it  was 
very  black ;  and  the  knocker  had  fallen  still. 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  he  remarked  after  a  time. 
"  They  wouldn't  dare  break  in." 

A  fluttering  whisper  answered  him :  "  I  don't 
know.  We  dare  risk  nothing." 

They  seemed  to  explore,  to  penetrate  acres  of  laby- 
rinthine chambers  and  passages,  delving  deep  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  like  rabbits  burrowing  in  a 
warren,  hounded  by  beagles. 

Above  stairs  the  hush  continued  unbroken ;  as  if 
the  dumb  Genius  of  the  Place  had  cast  a  spell  of 
silence  on  the  knocker,  or  else,  outraged,  had  smitten 
the  noisy  disturber  with  a  palsy. 

The  girl  seemed  to  know  her  way ;  whether  guided 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER      73 

by  familiarity  or  by  intuition,  she  led  on  without 
hesitation,  Kirkwood  blundering  in  her  wake,  be- 
tween confusion  of  impression  and  dawning  dismay 
conscious  of  but  one  tangible  thing,  to  which  he 
clung  as  to  his  hope  of  salvation :  those  firm,  friendly 
fingers  that  clasped  his  own. 

It  was  as  if  they  wandered  on  for  an  hour;  prob- 
ably from  start  to  finish  their  flight  took  up  three 
minutes,  no  more.  Eventually  the  girl  stopped,  re- 
leasing his  hand.  He  could  hear  her  syncopated 
breathing  before  him,  and  gathered  that  something 
was  wrong.  He  took  a  step  forward. 

"  What  is  it?  " 

Her  full  voice  broke  out  of  the  obscurity  start- 
lingly  close,  in  his  very  ear. 

"  The  door  —  the  bolts  —  I  can't  budge  them." 

"Let  me     .     .     ." 

He  pressed  forward,  brushing  her  shoulder.  She 
did  not  draw  away,  but  willingly  yielded  place  to 
his  hands  at  the  fastenings ;  and  what  had  proved  im- 
possible to  her,  to  his  strong  fingers  was  a  matter  of 
comparative  ease.  Yet,  not  entirely  consciously,  he 
was  not  quick.  As  he  tugged  at  the  bolts  he  was 
poignantly  sensitive  to  the  subtle  warmth  of  her  at 
his  side ;  he  could  hear  her  soft  dry  sobs  of  excitement 
and  suspense,  punctuating  the  quiet ;  and  was  fright- 
ened, absolutely,  by  an  impulse,  too  strong;  for  ridi- 
cule, to  take  her  in  his  arms  and  comfort  her  with 


74  THE  BLACK  BAG 

the  assurance  that,  whatever  her  trouble,  he  would 
stand  by  her  and  protect  her.  ...  It  were  fu- 
tile to  try  to  laugh  it  off ;  he  gave  over  the  endeavor. 
Even  at  this  critical  moment  he  found  himself  re- 
peating over  and  over  to  his  heart  the  question: 
"  Can  this  be  love?  Can  this  be  love?  .  .  ." 

Could  it  be  love  at  an  hour's  acquaintance?  Ab- 
surd !  But  he  could  not  laugh  —  nor  render  himself 
insensible  to  the  suggestion. 

He  found  that  he  had  drawn  the  bolts.  The  girl 
tugged  and  rattled  at  the  knob.  Reluctantly  the  door 
opened  inwards.  Beyond  its  threshold  stretched  ten 
feet  or  more  of  covered  passageway,  whose  entrance 
framed  an  oblong  glimmering  with  light.  A 
draught  of  fresh  air  smote  their  faces.  Behind  them 
a  door  banged. 

"  Where  does  this  open  ?  " 

"  On  the  mews,"  she  informed  him. 

"  The  mews !  "  He  stared  in  consternation  at  the 
pallid  oval  that  stood  for  her  face.  "  The  mews ! 
But  you,  in  your  evening  gown,  and  I  — " 

"  There's  no  other  way.  We  must  chance  it.  Are 
you  afraid  ?  " 

Afraid?  .  .  .  He  stepped  aside.  She  slipped 
by  him  and  on.  He  closed  the  door,  carefully  re- 
moving the  key  and  locking  it  on  the  outside;  then 
joined  the  girl  at  the  entrance  to  the  mews,  where 
they  paused  perforce,  she  as  much  disconcerted  as  he, 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER       75 

his  primary  objection  momentarily  waxing  in  force 
as  they  surveyed  the  conditions  circumscribing  their 
escape. 

Quadrant  Mews  was  busily  engaged  in  enjoying 
itself.  Night  had  fallen  sultry  and  humid,  and  the 
walls  and  doorsteps  were  well  fringed  and  clustered 
with  representatives  of  that  class  of  London's  popu- 
lation which  infests  mews  through  habit,  taste,  or 
force  of  circumstance. 

On  the  stoops  men  sprawled  at  easy  length,  dis- 
cussing short,  foul  cutties  loaded  with  that  rank  and 
odoriferous  compound  which,  under  the  name  and  in 
the  fame  of  tobacco,  is  widely  retailed  at  tuppence 
the  ounce.  Their  women-folk  more  commonly  squat- 
ted on  the  thresholds,  cheerfully  squabbling;  from 
opposing  second-story  windows,  two  leaned  perilously 
forth,  slanging  one  another  across  the  square  briskly 
in  the  purest  billingsgate;  and  were  impartially 
applauded  from  below  by  an  audience  whose  appre- 
ciation seemed  faintly  tinged  with  envy.  Squawking 
and  yelling  children  swarmed  over  the  flags  and  rude 
cobblestones  that  paved  the  ways.  Like  incense, 
heavy  and  pungent,  the  rich  effluvia  of  stable-yards 
swirled  in  air  made  visible  by  its  faint  burden  of 
mist. 

Over  against  the  entrance  wherein  Kirkwood  and 
the  girl  lurked,  confounded  by  the  problem  of  escap- 
ing undetected  through  this  vivacious  scene ;  a  stable- 


76  THE  BLACK  BAG 

door  stood  wide,  exposing  a  dimly  illumined  interior. 
Before  it  waited  a  four-wheeler,  horse  already  hitched 
in  between  the  shafts,  while  its  driver,  a  man  of  lei- 
surely turn  of  mind,  made  lingering  inspection  of 
straps  and  buckles,  and,  while  Kirkwood  watched  him, 
turned  attention  to  the  carriage  lamps. 

The  match  which  he  raked  spiritedly  down  his 
thigh,  flared  ruddily ;  the  succeeding  paler  glow  of 
the  lamp  threw  into  relief  a  heavy  beefy  mask,  with 
shining  bosses  for  cheeks  and  nose  and  chin ;  through 
narrow  slits  two  cunning  eyes  glittered  like  dull  gems. 
Kirkwood  appraised  him  with  attention,  as  one  in 
whose  gross  carcass  was  embodied  their  only  hope 
of  unannoyed  return  to  the  streets  and  normal  sur- 
roundings of  their  world.  The  difficulty  lay  in  at- 
tracting the  man's  attention  and  engaging  him 
without  arousing  his  suspicions  or  bringing  the  pop- 
ulation about  their  ears.  Though  he  hesitated  long, 
no  favorable  opportunity  presented  itself;  and  in 
time  the  Jehu  approached  the  box  with  the  ostensible 
purpose  of  mounting  and  driving  off.  In  this  crit- 
ical situation  the  American,  forced  to  recognize 
that  boldness  must  mark  his  course,  took  the  girl's 
fate  and  his  own  in  his  hands,  and  with  a  quick 
word  to  his  companion,  stepped  out  of  hiding. 

The  cabby  had  a  foot  upon  the  step  when  Kirk- 
wood tapped  his  shoulder. 

*'  My  man  — " 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER     77 

"  Lor,  lumme !  "  cried  the  fellow  in  amaze,  pivoting 
on  his  heel.  Cupidity  and  quick  understanding  en- 
livened the  eyes  which  in  two  glances  looked  Kirk- 
wood  up  and  down,  comprehending  at  once  both  his 
badly  rumpled  hat  and  patent-leather  shoes.  "  S'help 
me," — thickly, — "  where'd  you  drop  from,  guvner?  " 

"  That's  my  affair,"  said  Kirkwood  briskly. 
"  Are  you  engaged  ?  " 

"  If  you  mykes  yerself  my  fare,"  returned  the 
cabby  shrewdly,  "  I  ham." 

"  Ten  shillings,  then,  if  you  get  us  out  of  here  in 
one  minute  and  to  —  say  —  Hyde  Park  Corner  in 
fifteen." 

"  Us  ?  "  demanded  the  fellow  aggressively. 

Kirkwood  motioned  toward  the  passageway. 
"  There's  a  lady  with  me  —  there.  Quick  now !  " 

Still  the  man  did  not  move.  "  Ten  bob,"  he  bar- 
gained ;  "  an'  you  runnin'  awye  with  th'  stuffy  ol* 
gent's  fair  darter  ?  Come  now,  guvner,  is  it  gen'rous  ? 
Myke  it  a  quid  an' — " 

"  A  pound  then.      Will  you  hurry  ?  " 

By  way  of  answer  the  fellow  scrambled  hastily  up 
to  the  box  and  snatched  at  the  reins.  "  Ck!  Gee-e 
hup !  "  he  cried  sonorously. 

By  now  the  mews  had  wakened  to  the  fact  of  the 
presence  of  a  "  toff "  in  its  midst.  His  light  top- 
coat and  silk  hat  rendered  him  as  conspicuous  as  a  red 
Indian  in  war-paint  would  have  been  on  Rotten 


78  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Row.  A  cry  of  surprise  was  raised,  and  drowned 
in  a  volley  of  ribald  inquiry  and  chaff. 

Fortunately,  the  cabby  was  instant  to  rein  in 
skilfully  before  the  passageway,  and  Kirkwood  had 
the  door  open  before  the  four-wheeler  stopped.  The 
girl,  hugging  her  cloak  about  her,  broke  cover 
(whereat  the  hue  and  cry  redoubled),  and  sprang  into 
the  body  of  the  vehicle.  Kirkwood  followed,  shut- 
ting the  door.  As  the  cab  lurched  forward  he  leaned 
over  and  drew  down  the  window-shade,  shielding  the 
girl  from  half  a  hundred  prying  eyes.  At  the  same 
time  they  gathered  momentum,  banging  swiftly  if 
loudly  out  of  the  mews. 

An  urchin,  leaping  on  the  step  to  spy  in  Kirk- 
wood's  window,  fell  off,  yelping,  as  the  driver's  whip- 
lash curled  about  his  shanks. 

The  gloom  of  the  tunnel  inclosed  them  briefly  ere 
the  lights  of  the  Hog-in-the-Pound  flashed  by  and 
the  wheels  began  to  roll  more  easily.  Kirkwood  drew 
back  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Thank  God ! "  he  said  softly. 

The  girl  had  no  words. 

Worried  by  her  silence,  solicitous  lest,  the  strain 
ended,  she  might  be  on  the  point  of  fainting,  he  let 
up  the  shade  and  lowered  the  window  at  her  side. 

She  seemed  to  have  collapsed  in  her  corner. 
Against  the  dark  upholstery  her  hair  shone  like  pale 
gold  in  the  half-light;  her  eyes  were  closed  and  she 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER      79 

held  a  handkerchief  to  her  lips;  the  other  hand  lay 
limp. 

"  Miss  Calendar?  " 

She  started,  and  something  bulky  fell  from  the  seat 
and  thumped  heavily  on  the  floor.  Kirkwood  bent  to 
pick  it  up,  and  so  for  the  first  time  was  made  aware 
that  she  had  brought  with  her  a  small  black  gladstone 
bag  of  considerable  weight.  As  he  placed  it  on  the 
forward  seat  their  eyes  met. 

"  I  didn't  know  — "  he  began. 

"  It  was  to  get  that,"  she  hastened  to  explain,. 
"  that  my  father  sent  me  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  in  a  tone  indicating  his  com- 
plete comprehension.  "  I  trust  .  .  .  "he  added 
vaguely,  and  neglected  to  complete  the  observation, 
losing  himself  in  a  maze  of  conjecture  not  wholly 
agreeable.  This  was  a  new  phase  of  the  adventure. 
He  eyed  the  bag  uneasily.  What  did  it  contain? 
How  did  he  know  ? 

Hastily  he  abandoned  that  line  of  thought.  He 
had  no  right  to  infer  anything  whatever,  who  had 
thrust  himself  uninvited  into  her  concerns  —  unin- 
vited, that  was  to  say,  in  the  second  instance,  having 
been  once  definitely  given  his  conge.  Inevitably,  how- 
ever, a  thousand  unanswerable  questions  pestered  him  ; 
just  as,  at  each  fresh  facet  of  mystery  disclosed  by 
the  sequence  of  the  adventure,  his  bewilderment  deep- 
ened. 


80  THE  BLACK  BAG 

The  girl  stirred  restlessly.  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing," she  volunteered  in  a  troubled  tone,  "  that  there 
is  absolutely  no  way  I  know  of,  to  thank  you 
properly." 

"  It  is  enough  if  I've  been  useful,"  he  rose  in  gal- 
lantry to  the  emergency. 

"  That,"  she  commented,  "  was  very  prettily  said. 
But  then  I  hare  never  known  any  one  more  kind  and 
courteous  and  —  and  considerate,  than  you."  There 
was  no  savor  of  flattery  in  the  simple  and  direct  state- 
ment; indeed,  she  was  looking  away  from  him,  out 
of  the  window,  and  her  face  was  serious  with  thought ; 
she  seemed  to  be  speaking  of,  rather  than  to,  Kirk- 
wood.  "  And  I  have  been  wondering,"  she  continued 
with  unaffected  candor,  "  what  you  must  be  thinking 
of  me." 

"  I  ?  .  .  .  What  should  I  think  of  you,  Miss 
Calendar?  " 

With  the  air  of  a  weary  child  she  laid  her  head 
against  the  cushions  again,  face  to  him,  and  watched 
him  through  lowered  lashes,  unsmiling. 

"  You  might  be  thinking  that  an  explanation  is  due 
you.  Even  the  way  we  were  brought  together  was 
extraordinary,  Mr.  Kirkwood.  You  must  be  very 
generous,  as  generous  as  you  have  shown  yourself 
brave,  not  to  require  some  sort  of  an  explanation  of 
me." 

"  I  don't  see  it  that  way." 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER      81 

"  I  do.  .  .  .  You  have  made  me  like  you  very 
much,  Mr.  Kirkwood." 

He  shot  her  a  covert  glance  —  causelessly,  for  her 
naivete  was  flawless.  With  a  feeling  of  some  slight 
awe  he  understood  this  —  a  sensation  of  sincere  rever- 
ence for  the  unspoiled,  candid,  child's  heart  and  mind 
that  were  hers.  "  I'm  glad,"  he  said  simply ;  "  very 
glad,  if  that's  the  case,  and  presupposing  I  deserve 
it.  Personally,"  he  laughed,  "  I  seem  to  myself  to 
have  been,  rather  forward." 

"  No;  only  kind  and  a  gentleman." 

"  But  —  please !  "  he  protested. 

"  Oh,  but  I  mean  it,  every  word !  Why  shouldn't 
I?  In  a  little  while,  ten  minutes,  half  an  hour,  we 
shall  have  seen  the  last  of  each  other.  Why  should 
I  not  tell  you  how  I  appreciate  all  that  you  have  un- 
selfishly done  for  me?" 

"If  you  put  it  that  way, —  I'm  sure  I  don't  know; 
beyond  that  it  embarrasses  me  horribly  to  have  you 
overestimate  me  so.  If  any  courage  has  been  shown 
this  night,  it  is  yours.  .  .  .  But  I'm  forgetting 
again."  He  thought  to  divert  her.  "Where  shall  I 
tell  the  cabby  to  go  this  time,  Miss  Calendar?" 

"Craven  Street,  please,"  said  the  girl,  and  added 
a  house  number.  "I  am  to  meet  my  father  there, 
with  this, ' ' —  indicating  the  gladstone  bag. 

Kirkwood  thrust  head  and  shoulders  out  the  window 
and  instructed  the  cabby  accordingly;  but  his  ruse 


82  THE   BLACK   BAG 

had  been  ineffectual,  as  he  found  when  he  sat  back 
again.  Quite  composedly  the  girl  took  up  the  thread 
of  conversation  where  it  had  been  broken  off. 

"It's  rather  hard  to  keep  silence,  when  you've  been 
so  good.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  less  generous 
than  yourself,  but,  truly,  I  can  tell  you  nothing." 
She  sighed  a  trace  resentfully;  or  so  he  thought. 
"There  is  little  enough  in  this  —  this  wretched  af- 
fair, that  I  understand  myself;  and  that  little,  I  may 
not  tell.  .  .  .  I  want  you  to  know  that. " 

"I  understand,  Miss  Calendar." 

"There's  one  thing  I  may  say,  however.  I  have 
done  nothing  wrong  to-night,  I  believe,"  she  added 
quickly. 

"I've  never  for  an  instant  questioned  that,"  he 
returned  with  a  qualm  of  shame;  for  what  he  said 
was  not  true. 

"Thank  you     .     .      ." 

The  four-wheeler  swung  out  of  Oxford  Street  into 
Charing  Cross  Road.  Kirkwood  noted  the  fact  with 
a  feeling  of  some  relief  that  their  ride  was  to  be  so 
short;  like  many  of  his  fellow-sufferers  from  "the 
artistic  temperament,'*  he  was  acutely  disconcerted  by 
spoken  words  of  praise  and  gratitude ;  Miss  Calendar, 
unintentionally  enough,  had  succeeded  only  in  render- 
ing him  self-conscious  and  ill  at  ease. 

Nor  had  she  fully  relieved  her  mind,  nor  voiced  all 
that  perturbed  her.  "There's  one  thing  more,"  she 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER     83 

said  presently :  "  my  father.  I  —  I  hope  you  will 
think  charitably  of  him." 

"  Indeed,  I've  no  reason  or  right  to  think  other- 
wise." 

"  I  was  afraid  —  afraid  his  actions  might  have 
seemed  peculiar,  to-night  .  .  ." 

"  There  are  lots  of  things  I  don't  understand,  Miss 
Calendar.  Some  day,  perhaps,  it  will  all  clear  up, — 
this  trouble  of  yours.  At  least,  one  supposes  it  is 
trouble,  of  some  sort.  And  then  you  will  tell  me 
the  whole  story.  .  .  .  Won't  you? "  Kirkwood 
insisted. 

"  I'm.  afraid  not,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  of 
shadowed  sadness.  "  We  are  to  say  good  night  in  a 
moment  or  two,  and  —  it  will  be  good-by  as  well. 
It's  unlikely  that  we  shall  ever  meet  again." 

"  I  refuse  positively  to  take  such  a  gloomy  view 
of  the  case !  " 

She  shook  her  head,  laughing  with  him,  but  with 
shy  regret.  "  It's  so,  none  the  less.  We  are  leaving 
London  this  very  night,  my  father  and  I  —  leaving 
England,  for  that  matter." 

"Leaving  England?"  he  echoed.  "You're  not 
by  any  chance  bound  for  America,  are  you  ?  " 

"I     .     ....    can't  tell  you." 

"  But  you  can  tell  me  this :  are  you  booked  on  the 
Minneapolis?  " 

"  No-o ;  it  is  a  —  quite  another  boat." 


84  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Of  course ! "  he  commented  savagely.  "  It 
wouldn't  be  me  to  have  any  sort  of  luck ! " 

She  made  no  reply  beyond  a  low  laugh.  He  stared 
gloomily  out  of  his  window,  noting  indifferently  that 
they  were  passing  the  National  Gallery.  On  their 
left  Trafalgar  Square  stretched,  broad  and  bare,  a 
wilderness  of  sooty  stone  with  an  air .  of  mutely  toler- 
ating its  incongruous  fountains.  Through  Charing 
Cross  roared  a  tide-rip  of  motor-busses  and  hackney 
carriages. 

Glumly  the  young  man  foresaw  the  passing  of  hi& 
abbreviated  romance;  their  destination  was  near  at 
hand.  Brentwick  had  been  right,  to  some  extent,  at 
least ;  it  was  quite  true  that  the  curtain  had  been  rung 
up  that  very  night,  upon  Kirkwood's  Romance;  un- 
happily, as  Brentwick  had  not  foreseen,  it  was  imme 
diately  to  be  rung  down. 

The  cab  rolled  soberly  into  the  Strand. 

"  Since  we  are  to  say  good-by  so  very  soon,"  sugj 
gested  Kirkwood,  "  may  I  ask  a  parting  favor,  Miss 
Calendar?  " 

She  regarded  him  with  friendly  eyes.  "  You  have 
every  right,"  she  affirmed  gently. 

"  Then  please  to  tell  me  frankly :  are  you  going 
into  any  further  danger?  " 

"  And  is  that  the  only  boon  you  crave  at  my  hands, 
Mr.  Kirkwood?  " 

"  Without  impertinence     .     .     ." 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER     85 

For  a  little  time,  waiting  for  him  to  conclude  his 
vague  phrase,  she  watched  him  in  an  expectant  si- 
lence. But  the  man  was  diffident  to  a  degree 
At  length,  somewhat  unconsciously,  "  I  think  not," 
she  answered.  "  No ;  there  will  be  no  danger  await- 
ing me  at  Mrs.  Hallam's.  You  need  not  fear  for  me 
any  more.  .  .  .  Thank  you." 

He  lifted  his  brows  at  the  unfamiliar  name.  "  Mrs. 
Hallam  —  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  her  house  in  Craven  Street." 

"  Your  father  is  to  meet  you  there  ?  " —  persist- 
ently. 

"  He  promised  to."     ! 

"But  if  he  shouldn't?" 

"  Why  ..."  Her  eyes  clouded ;  she  pursed 
her  lips  over  the  conjectural  annoyance.  "  Why,  in 
that  event,  I  suppose  ...  It  -would  be  very  em- 
barrassing. You  see,  I  don't  know  Mrs.  Hallam ;  I 
don't  know  that  she  expects  me,  unless  my  father  is 
already  there.  They  are  old  friends.  ...  I 
could  drive  round  for  a  while  and  come  back,  I  sup- 
pose." 

But  she  made  it  plain  that  the  prospect  did  not 
please  her. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  ask  if  Mr.  Calender  is  there,  be- 
fore you  get  out,  then?  I  don't  like  to  be  dis- 
missed," he  laughed ;  "  and,  you  know,  you  shouldn't 
go  wandering  round  all  alone." 


86  THE  BLACK  BAG 

The  cab  drew  up.  Kirkwood  put  a  hand  on  the 
door  and  awaited  her  will. 

"  It  —  it  would  be  very  kind  ...  I  hate  to 
dmpose  upon  you." 

He  turned  the  knob  and  got  out.  "  If  you'll  wait 
one  moment,"  he  said  superfluously,  as  he  closed  the 
door. 

Pausing  only  to  verify  the  number,  he  sprang  up 
the  steps  and  found  the  bell-button. 

It  was  a  modest  little  residence,  in  nothing  more 
remarkable  than  its  neighbors,  unless  it  was  for 
a  certain  air  of  extra  grooming:  the  area  railing 
was  sleek  with  fresh  black  paint;  the  doorstep  looked 
the  better  for  vigorous  stoning ;  the  door  itself  was 
immaculate,  its  brasses  shining  lustrous  against 
red-lacquered  woodwork.  A  soft  glow  filled  the  fan- 
light. Overhead  the  drawing-room  windows  shone 
with  a  cozy,  warm  radiance. 

The  door  opened,  framing  the  figure  of  a  maid 
sketched  broadly  in  masses  of  somber  black  and  dead 
white. 
I     "  Can  you  tell  me,  is  Mr.  Calendar  here?  " 

The  servant's  eyes  left  his  face,  looked  past  him  at 
the  waiting  cab,  and  returned. 

"  I'm  not  sure,  sir.     If  you  will  please  step  in." 

Kirkwood  hesitated  briefly,  then  acceded.  The 
maid  closed  the  door. 

"  What  name  shall  I  say,  sir?  " 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER      87 

"Mr.  Kirkwood." 

"  If  you  will  please  to  wait  one  moment,  sir  — " 

He  was  left  in  the  entry  hall,  the  servant  hurrying 
to  the  staircase  and  up.  Three  minutes  elapsed;  he 
was  on  the  point  of  returning  to  the  girl,  when  the 
maid  reappeared. 

"  Mrs.  Hallam  says,  will  you  kindly  step  up-stairs, 
sir." 

Disgruntled,  he  followed  her;  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  she  bowed  him  into  the  drawing-room  and  again 
left  him  to  his  own  resources. 

Nervous,  annoyed,  he  paced  the  floor  from  wall  to 
wall,  his  footfalls  silenced  by  heavy  rugs.  As  the 
delay  was  prolonged  he  began  to  fume  with  impa- 
tience, wondering,  half  regretting  that  he  had  left  the 
girl  outside,  definitely  sorry  that  he  had  failed  to 
name  his  errand  more  explicitly  to  the  maid.  At  an- 
other time,  in  another  mood,  he  might  have  accorded 
more  appreciation  to  the  charm  of  the  apartment, 
which,  betraying  the  feminine  touch  in  every  detail 
of  arrangement  and  furnishing,  was  very  handsome 
in  an  unconventional  way.  But  he  was  quite  heedless 
of  externals. 

Wearied,  he  deposited  himself  sulkily  in  an  arm- 
chair by  the  hearth. 

From  a  boudoir  on  the  same  floor  there  came  mur- 
murs of  two  voices,  a  man's  and  a  woman's.  The 
latter  laughed  prettily. 


88  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Oh,  any  time !  "  snorted  the  American.  "  Any 
time  you're  through  with  your  confounded  flirtation, 
Mr.  George  B.  Calendar !  " 

The  voices  rose,  approaching.  "  Good  night," 
said  the  woman  gaily ;  "  farewell  and  —  good  luck  go 
with  you !  " 

"  Thank  you.  Good  night,"  replied  the  man  more 
conservatively. 

Kirkwood  rose,  expectant. 

There  was  a  swish  of  draperies,  and  a  moment 
later  he  was  acknowledging  the  totally  unlooked- 
for  entrance  of  the  mistress  of  the  house.  He 
had  thought  to  see  Calendar,  presuming  him  to  be  the 
man  closeted  with  Mrs.  Hallam ;  but,  whoever  that 
had  been,  he  did  not  accompany  the  w.oman.  Indeed, 
as  she  advanced  from  the  doorway,  Kirkwood  could 
hear  the  man's  footsteps  on  the  stairs. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Kirkwood  ?  "  The  note  of  inquiry 
in  the  well-trained  voice  —  a  very  alluring  voice  and 
one  pleasant  to  listen  to,  he  thought  —  made  it  seem 
as  though  she  had  asked,  point-blank,  "  WJio  is  Mr. 
Kirkwood?  " 

\  He  bowed,  discovering  himself  in  the  presence  of 
;an  extraordinarily  handsome  and  interesting  woman ; 
a  woman  of  years  which  as  yet  had  not  told  upon  her, 
of  experience  that  had  not  availed  to  harden  her,  at 
least  in  so  far  as  her  exterior  charm  of  personality 
was  involved;  a  woman,  in  brief,  who  bore  close  in- 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER     89 

spection  well,  despite  an  elusive  effect  of  maturity,  not 
without  its  attraction  for  men.  Kirkwood  was  im- 
pressed that  it  would  be  very  easy  to  learn  to  like 
Mrs.  Hallam  more  than  well  —  with  her  approval. 

Although  he  had  not  anticipated  it,  he  was  not  at 
all  surprised  to  recognize  in  her  the  woman  who,  if  he 
were  not  mistaken,  had  slipped  to  Calendar  that  warn- 
ing in  the  dining-room  of  the  Pless.  Kirkwood's 
state  of  mind  had  come  to  be  such,  through  his  ex- 
periences of  the  past  few  hours,  that  he  would  have 
accepted  anything,  however  preposterous,  as  a  com- 
monplace happening.  But  for  that  matter  there  was 
nothing  particularly  astonishing  in  this  rencontre. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Hallam.  You  were  asking  for  Mr. 
Calendar?  " 

"  He  was  to  have  been  here  at  this  hour,  I  be- 
lieve," said  Kirkwood. 

"Yes?"  There  was  just  the  right  inflection  of 
surprise  in  her  carefully  controlled  tone. 

He  became  aware  of  an  undercurrent  of  feeling; 
that  the  woman  was  estimating  him  shrewdly  with  her 
fine  direct  eyes.  He  returned  her  regard  with  admir- 
ing interest;  they  were  gray-green  eyes,  deep-set  but 
large,  a  little  shallow,  a  little  changeable,  calling  to 
mind  the  sea  on  a  windy,  cloudy  day. 

Below  stairs  a  door  slammed. 

"  I  am  not  a  detective,  Mrs.  Hallam,"  announced 
the  young  man  suddenly.  "  Mr.  Calendar  required 


90  THE  BLACK  BAG 

a  service  of  me  this  evening;  I  am  here  in  natural 
consequence.  If  it  was  Mr.  Calendar  who  left  this 
house  just  now,  I  am.  wasting  time." 

"  It  was  not  Mr.  Calendar."  The  fine-lined  brows 
arched  in  surprise,  real  or  pretended,  at  his  first 
blurted  words,  and  relaxed ;  amused,  the  woman 
laughed  deliciously.  "  But  I  am  expecting  him  any 
moment ;  he  was  to  have  been  here  half  an  hour  since. 
.  .  .  Won't  you  wait? " 

She  indicated,  with  a  gracious  gesture,  a  chair,  and 
took  for  herself  one  end  of  a  davenport.  "  I'm  sure 
he  won't  be  long,  now." 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  return,  if  I  may."  Kirkwood 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"  But  there's  no  necessity  — "  She  seemed  in- 
sistent on  detaining  him,  possibly  because  she  ques- 
tioned his  motive,  possibly  for  her  own  divertisement. 

Kirkwood  deprecated  his  refusal  with  a  smile. 
"  The  truth  is,  Miss  Calendar  is  waiting  in  a  cab, 
outside.  I  — " 

"  Dorothy  Calendar ! "  Mrs.  Hallam  rose  alertly. 
"  But  why  should  she  wait  there?  To  be  sure,  we've 
never  met;  but  I  have  known  her  father  for  many 
years."  Her  eyes  held  steadfast  to  his  face ;  shallow, 
flawed  by  her  every  thought,  like  the  sea  by  a  cat's- 
paw  he  found  them  altogether  inscrutable ;  yet  received 
an  impression  that  their  owner  was  now  unable  to 
account  for  him. 


MYSTERY  OF  A  FOUR-WHEELER      91 

She  swung  about  quickly,  preceding  him  to  the 
door  and  down  the  stairs.  "  I  am  sure  Dorothy  will 
come  in  to  wait,  if  I  ask  her,"  she  told  Kirkwood  in  a 
high  sweet  voice.  "  I'm  so  anxious  to  know  her.  It's 
quite  absurd,  really,  of  her  —  to  stand  on  ceremony 
with  me,  when  her  father  made  an  appointment  here. 
I'll  run  out  and  ask — " 

Mrs.  Hallam's  slim  white  fingers  turned  latch  and 
knob,  opening  the  street  door,  and  her  voice  died  away 
as  she  stepped  out  into  the  night.  For  a  moment,  to 
Kirkwood,  tagging  after  her  with  an  uncomfortable 
sense  of  having  somehow  done  the  wrong  thing,  her 
figure  —  full  fair  shoulders  and  arms  rising  out  of 
the  glittering  dinner  gown  —  cut  a  gorgeous  silhou- 
ette against  the  darkness.  Then,  with  a  sudden,  im- 
perative gesture,  she  half  turned  towards  him. 

"  But,"  she  exclaimed,  perplexed,  gazing  to  right 
and  left,  "  but  the  cab,  Mr.  Kirkwood?  " 

He  was  on  the  stoop  a  second  later.  Standing  be- 
side her,  he  stared  blankly. 

To  the  left  the  Strand  roared,  the  stream  of  its 
night-life  in  high  spate;  on  the  right  lay  the  Em- 
bankment, comparatively  silent  and  deserted,  if  bril- 
liant with  its  high-swung  lights.  Between  the  two, 
quiet  Craven  Street  ran,  short  and  narrow,  and  wholly 
innocent  of  any  form  of  equipage. 


VI 

"  BELOW  BRIDGE  " 

In  silence  Mrs.  Hallam  turned  to  Kirkwood,  her 
pose  in  itself  a  question  and  a  peremptory  one.  Her 
eyes  had  narrowed;  between  their  lashes  the  green 
showed,  a  thin  edge  like  jade,  cold  and  calculating. 
The  firm  lines  of  her  mouth  and  chin  had  hardened. 

Temporarily  dumb  with  consternation,  he  returned 
her  stare  as  silently. 

"  Well,  Mr.—  Kirkwood?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hallam,"  he  stammered,  "  I  — " 

She  lifted  her  shoulders  impatiently  and  with  a 
quick  movement  stepped  back  across  the  threshold, 
where  she  paused,  a  rounded  arm  barring  the  en- 
trance, one  hand  grasping  the  door-knob,  as  if  to 
shut  him  out  at  any  moment. 

"  I'm  awaiting  your  explanation,"  she  said  coldly. 

He  grinned  with  nervousness,  striving  to  penetrate 
the  mental  processes  of  this  handsome  Mrs.  Hallam. 
She  seemed  to  regard  him  with  a  suspicion  which  he 
thought  inexcusable.  Did  she  suppose  he  had  spir- 
ited Dorothy  Calendar  away  and  then  called  to  apprise 
her  of  the  fact?  Or  that  he  was  some  sort  of  an  ad- 

92 


"BELOW  BRIDGE"  93 

venturer,  who  had  manufactured  a  plausible  yarn  to 
gain  him  access  to  her  home  ?  Or  —  harking  back  to 
her  original  theory  —  that  he  was  an  emissary  from 
Scotland  Yard?  .  .  .  Probably  she  distrusted 
him  on  the  latter  hypothesis.  The  reflection  left  him 
more  at  ease. 

"  I  am  quite  as  mystified  as  you,  Mrs.  Hallam," 
he  began.  "  Miss  Calendar  was  here,  at  this  door, 
in  a  four-wheeler,  not  ten  minutes  ago,  and  — " 

"  Then  where  is  she  now  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  where  Calendar  is,"  he  retorted,  inspired, 
"  and  I'll  try  to  answer  you !  " 

But  her  eyes  were  blank.     "  You  mean  —  ?  " 

"  That  Calendar  was  in  this  house  when  I  came ; 
that  he  left,  found  his  daughter  in  the  cab,  and  drove 
off  with  her.  It's  clear  enough." 

"  You  are  quite  mistaken,"  she  said  thoughtfully. 
"  George  Calendar  has  not  been  here  this  night." 

He  wondered  that  she  did  not  seem  to  resent  his 
imputation.  "  I  think  not  — " 

"  Listen  !  "  she  cried,  raising  a  warning  hand ;  and 
relaxing  her  vigilant  attitude,  moved  forward  once 
more,  to  peer  down  toward  the  Embankment. 

A  cab  had  cut  in  from  that  direction  and  was 
bearing  down  upon  them  with  a  brisk  rumble  of 
hoofs.  As  it  approached,  Kirkwood's  heart,  that  had 
lightened,  was  weighed  upon  again  by  disappoint- 
ment. It  was  no  foti ^-wheeler,  but  a  hansom,  and  the 


94  THE  BLACK  BAG 

open  wings  of  the  apron,  disclosing  a  white  triangle 
of  linen  surmounted  by  a  glowing  spot  of  fire,  be- 
trayed the  sex  of  the  fare  too  plainly  to  allow  of 
further  hope  that  it  might  be  the  girl  returning. 

At  the  door,  the  cab  pulled  up  sharply  and  a  man 
tumbled  hastily  out  upon  the  sidewalk. 

"  Here ! "  he  cried  throatily,  tossing  the  cabby  his 
fare,  and  turned  toward  the  pair  upon  the  doorstep, 
evidently  surmising  that  something  was  amiss.  For 
he  was  Calendar  in  proper  person,  and  a  sight  to 
upset  in  a  twinkling  Kirkwood's  ingeniously  builded 
castle  of  suspicion. 

"  Mrs.  Hallam !  "  he  cried,  out  of  breath.  "  >S  my 
daughter  here?  "  And  then,  catching  sight  of  Kirk- 
wood's  countenance :  "  Why,  hello,  Kirkwood !  "  he 
saluted  him  with  a  dubious  air. 

The  woman  interrupted  hastily.  "  Please  come  in, 
Mr.  Calendar.  This  gentleman  has  been  inquiring 
for  you,  with  an  astonishing  tale  about  your  daugh- 
ter." 

"  Dorothy ! "  Calendar's  moon-like  visage  was 
momentarily  divested  of  any  trace  of  color.  "  What 
of  her?  " 

"  You  had  better  come  in,"  advised  Mrs.  Hallam 
brusquely. 

The  fat  adventurer  hopped  hurriedly  across  the 
threshold,  Kirkwood  following.  The  woman  shut 
the  door,  and  turned  with  back  to  it,  nodding  sig- 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  «  95 

nificantly  at  Kirkwood  as  her  eyes  met  Calendar's. 

"  Well,  well? "  snapped  the  latter  impatiently, 
turning  to  the  young  man. 

But  Kirkwood  was  thinking  quickly.  For  the 
present  he  contented  himself  with  a  deliberate  state- 
ment of  fact :  "  Miss  Calendar  has  disappeared."  It 
gave  him  an  instant's  time.  ..."  There's 
something  damned  fishy  !  "  he  told  himself.  "  These 
two  are  playing  at  cross-purposes.  Calendar's  no 
fool;  he's  evidently  a  crook,  to  boot.  As  for  the 
woman,  she's  had  her  eyes  open  for  a  number  of 
years.  The  main  thing's  Dorothy.  She  didn't  van- 
ish of  her  own  initiative.  And  Mrs.  Hallam  knows, 
or  suspects,  more  than  she's  going  to  tell.  I  don't 
think  she  wants  Dorothy  found.  Calendar  does.  So 
do  I.  Ergo:  I'm  for  Calendar." 

"  Disappeared  ?  "  Calendar  was  barking  at  him. 
"How?  When?  Where?" 

"  Within  ten,  minutes,"  said  Kirkwood.  "  Here, 
let's  get  it  straight.  .  .  .  With  her  permission 
I  brought  her  here  in  a  four-wheeler."  He  was  care- 
fully suppressing  all  mention  of  Frognall  Street,  and 
in  Calendar's  glance  read  approval  of  the  elision. 
"  She  didn't  want  to  get  out,  unless  you  were  here. 
I  asked  for  you.  The  maid  showed  me  up-stairs.  I 
left  your  daughter  in  the  cab  —  and  by  the  way,  I 
hadn't  paid  the  driver.  That's  funny,  too!  Per- 
haps six  or  seven  minutes  after  I  came  in  Mrs.  Hal' 


96  THE  BLACK  BAG 

lam  found  out  that  Miss  Calendar  was  with  me  and 
wanted  to  ask  her  in.  When  we  got  to  the  door  — 
no  cab.  There  you  have  it  all." 

"  Thanks  —  it's  plenty,"  said  Calendar  dryly.  He 
bent  his  head  in  thought  for  an  instant,  then  looked 
up  and  fixed  Mrs.  Hallam  with  an  unprejudiced  eye, 
"  I  say !  "  he  demanded  explosively.  "  There  wasn't 
any  one  here  that  knew  —  eh?  " 

Her  fine  eyes  wavered  and  fell  before  his ;  and 
Kirkwood  remarked  that  her  under  lip  was  curiously 
drawn  in. 

"  I  heard  a  man  leave  as  Mrs.  Hallam  joined  me,v/ 
he  volunteered  helpfully,  and  with  a  suspicion  of 
malice.  "  And  after  that  —  I  paid  no  attention  at 
the  time  —  it  seems  to  me  I  did  hear  a  cab  in  the 
street  — " 

"  Ow? "  interjected  Calendar,  eying  the  woman 
steadfastly  and  employing  an  exclamation  of  com- 
bined illumination  and  inquiry  more  typically  British 
than  anything  Kirkwood  had  yet  heard  from  the  man. 

For  her  part,  the  look  she  gave  Kirkwood  was 
sharp  with  fury.  It  was  more;  it  was  a  mistake,  a 
flaw  in  her  diplomacy;  for  Calendar  intercepted  it. 
Unceremoniously  he  grasped  her  bare  arm  with  his 
fat  hand. 

"  Tell  me  who  it  was,"  he  demanded  in  an  ugly 
tone. 

She  freed  herself  with  a  twist,  and  stepped  back, 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  97 

a  higher  color  in  her  cheeks,  a  flash  of  anger  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Mr.  Mulready,"  she  retorted  defiantly.  "  What 
of  that?" 

"  I  wish  I  was  sure,"  declared  the  fat  adventurer, 
exasperated.  "  As  it  is,  I  bet  a  dollar  you've  put 
your  foot  in  it,  my  lady.  I  warned  you  of  that  black- 
guard. .  .  .  There!  The  mischief 'r.  done;  we 
won't  row  over  it.  One  moment.5'  He  begged  it 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand;  stood  ~x>nc3ring  briefly, 
fumbled  for  his  watch,  found  rnc  consulted  it. 
"  It's  the  barest  chance,"  he  mutt^-ed.  "  Perhaps 
we  can  make  it." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  asked  the  woman. 

"  Give  Mister  Mulready  a  run  for  his  money. 
Come  along,  Kirkwood;  we  haven't  a  minute.  Mrs. 
Hallam,  permit  us  .  .  ."  She  stepped  aside  and 
he  brushed  past  her  to  the  door.  "  Come,  Kirk- 
wood  !  " 

He  seemed  to  take  Kirkwood's  company  for 
granted;  and  the  young  man  was  not  inclined  to 
argue  the  point.  Meekly  enough  he  fell  in  with  Cal- 
endar on  the  sidewalk.  Mrs.  Hallam  followed  them 
out.  "  You  won't  forget  ?  "  she  called  tentatively. 

"  I'll  'phone  you  if  we  find  out  anything."  Cal- 
endar jerked  the  words  unceremoniously  over  his 
shoulder  as,  linking  arms  with  Kirkwood,  he  drew 
him  swiftly  along.  They  heard  her  shut  the  door; 


98  THE  BLACK  BAG 

instantly  Calendar  stopped.  "  Look  here,  did  Dor- 
othy have  a — a  small  parcel  with  her?  " 

"  She  had  a  gladstone  bag." 

"  Oh,  the  devil,  the  devil ! "  Calendar  started  on 
again,  .muttering  distractedly.  As  they  reached  the 
Corner  he  disengaged  his  arm.  "  We've  a  minute  and 
a  half  to  reach  Charing  Cross  Pier;  and  I  think  it's 
the  last  boat.  You  set  the  pace,  will  you?  But 
remember  I'm  an  oldish  man  and  —  and  fat." 

They  began  to  run,  the  one  easily,  the  other  lum- 
bering after  like  an,  old-fashioned  square-rigged  ship 
paced  by  a  liner. 

Beneath  the  railway  bridge,  in  front  of  the  Under- 
ground station,  the  cab-rank  cried  them  on  with  sar- 
donic view-halloos ;  and  a  bobby  remarked  them  with 
suspicion,  turning  to  watch  as  they  plunged  round 
the  corner  and  across  the  wide  Embankment. 

The  Thames  appeared  before  them,  a  river  of  ink 
on  whose  burnished  surface  lights  swam  in  long  wind- 
ing streaks  and  oily  blobs.  By  the  floating  pier  a 
County  Council  steamboat  strained  its  hawsers,  snor- 
ing huskily.  Bells  were  jingling  in  her  engine-room 
as  the  two  gained  the  head  of  the  sloping  gangway. 

Kirkwood  slapped  a  shilling  down  on  the  ticket- 
window  ledge.  "  Where  to?  "  he  cried  back  to  Cal- 
endar. 

"  Cherry  Gardens  Pier,"  rasped  the  winded  man. 
He  stumbled  after  Kirkwood,  groaning  with  exhaus~ 


"BELOW  BRIDGE*  99 

tion.  Only  the  tolerance  of  the  pier  employees  gained 
them  their  end;  the  steamer  was  held  some  seconds 
for  them;  as  Calendar  staggered  to  its  deck,  the 
gangway  was  jerked  in,  the  last  hawser  cast  off.; 
The  boat  sheered  wide  out  on  the  river,  then  shot  in, 
arrow-like,  to  the  pier  beneath  Waterloo  Bridge. 

The  deck  was  crowded  and  additional  passengers 
embarked  at  every  stop.  In  the  circumstances  con- 
versation, save  on  the  most  impersonal  topics,  was 
impossible;  and  even  had  it  been  necessary  or  ad- 
visable to  discuss  the  affair  which  occupied  their 
minds,  where  so  many  ears  could  hear,  Calendar  had 
breath  enough  neither  to  answer  nor  to  catechize 
Kirkwood.  They  found  seats  on  the  forward  deck 
and  rested  there  in  grim  silence,  both  fretting  under 
the  enforced  restraint,  while  the  boat  darted,  like  some 
illuminated  and  exceptionally  active  water  insect, 
from  pier  to  pier. 

As  it  snorted  beneath  London  Bridge,  Calendar's 
impatience  drove  him  from  his  seat  back  to  the  gang- 
way. "  Next  stop,"  he  told  Kirkwood  curtly ;  and 
rested  his  heavy  bulk  against  the  paddle-box,  brood- 
ing morosely,  until,  after  an  uninterrupted  run  of 
more  than  a  mile,  the  steamer  swept  in,  side- wheels 
backing  water  furiously  against  the  ebbing  tide,  to 
Cherry  Gardens  landing. 

Sweet  name  for  a  locality  unsavory  beyond  cre- 
dence !  ...  As  they  emerged  on  the  street  level 


100  THE  BLACK  BAG 

and  turned  west  on  Bermondsey  Wall,  Kirkwood  was 
fain  to  tug  his  top-coat  over  his  chest  and  button  it 
tight,  to  hide  his  linen.  In  a  guarded  tone  he  coun- 
seled his  companion  to  do  likewise;  and  Calendar, 
after  a  moment's  blank,  uncomprehending  stare,  ac- 
knowledged the  wisdom  of  the  advice  with  a  grunt. 

The  very  air  they  breathed  was  rank  with  fetid 
odors  bred  of  the  gaunt  dark  warehouses  that  lined 
their  way ;  the  lights  were  few ;  beneath  the  looming 
buildings  the  shadows  were  many  and  dense.  Here 
and  there  dreary  and  cheerless  public  houses  appeared, 
with  lighted  windows  conspicuous  in  a  lightless  waste. 
From  time  to  time,  as  they  hurried  on,  they  encoun- 
tered, and  made  wide  detours  to  escape  contact  with 
knots  of  wayfarers  —  men  debased  and  begrimed, 
with  dreary  and  slatternly  women,  arm  in  arm,  zig- 
zaging  widely  across  the  sidewalks,  chorusing  with 
sodden  voices  the  burden  of  some  popularized  ballad. 
The  cheapened,  sentimental  refrains  echoed  sadly  be- 
tween benighted  walls. 

Kirkwood  shuddered,  sticking  close  to  Calendar's 
side.  Life's  naked  brutalities  had  theretofore  been 
largely  out  of  his  ken.  He  had  heard  of  slums,  had 
even  ventured  to  mouth  politely  moral  platitudes  on 
the  subject  of  overcrowding  in  great  centers  of  popu- 
lation, but  in  the  darkest  flights  of  imagination  had 
never  pictured  to  himself  anything  so  unspeakably 
foul  and  hopeless  as  this.  .  .  ,  And  they  were 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  101 

come  hither  seeking  —  Dorothy  Calendar!  He  was 
unable  to  conceive  what  manner  of  villainy  could  be 
directed  against  her,  that  she  must  be  looked  for  in 
such  surroundings. 

After  some  ten  minutes'  steady  walking,  Calendar 
turned  aside  with  a  muttered  word,  and  dived  down  a 
covered,  dark  and  evil-smelling  passageway  that 
seemed  to  lead  toward  the  river. 

Mastering  his  involuntary  qualms,  Kirkwood  fol- 
lowed. 

Some  ten  or  twelve  paces  from  its  entrance  the  pas- 
sageway swerved  at  a  right  angle,  continuing  three 
yards  or  so  to  end  in  a  blank  wall,  wherefrom  a 
flickering,  inadequate  gas-lamp  jutted.  At  this  point 
a  stone  platform,  perhaps  four  feet  square,  was  dis- 
covered, from  the  edge  of  which  a  flight  of  worn  and 
slimy  stone  steps  led  down  to  a  permanent  boat-land- 
ing, where  another  gas-light  flared  gustily  despite  the 
protection  of  its  frame  of  begrimed  glass. 

"  Good  Lord ! "  exclaimed  the  young  man. 
"What,  in  Heaven's  name,  Calendar  —  ?" 

"  Bermondsey   Old    Stairs.     Come   on." 

They  descended  to  the  landing-stage.  Beneath 
them  the  Pool  slept,  a  sheet  of  polished  ebony, 
whispering  to  itself,  lapping  with  small  stealthy  gur- 
gles angles  of  masonry  and  ancient  piles.  On  the 
farther  bank  tall  warehouses  reared  square  old-time 
heads,  their  uncompromising,  rugged  profile  relieved 


102  THE  BLACK  BAG 

here  and  there  by  tapering  mastheads.  A  few,  scat- 
tering, feeble  lights  were  visible.  Nothing  moved 
save  the  river  and  the  wind. 

i  The  landing  itself  they  found  quite  deserted  ;  some- 
jthing  which  the  adventurer  comprehended  with  a  nod 
which,  like  its  accompanying,  inarticulate  ejaculation, 
might  have  been  taken  to  indicate  either  satisfaction 
or  disgust.  He  ignored  Kirkwood  altogether,  for  the 
time  being,  and  presently  produced  a  small,  bright 
object,  which,  applied  to  his  lips,  proved  to  be  a 
boatswain's  whistle.  He  sounded  two  blasts,  one 
long,  one  brief. 

There  fell  a  lull,  Kirkwood  watching  the  other  and 
wondering  what  next  would  happen.  Calendar 
paced  restlessly  to  and  fro  upon  the  narrow  landing, 
now  stopping  to  incline  an  ear  to  catch  some  antici- 
pated sound,  now  searching  with  sweeping  glances  the 
black  reaches  of  the  Pool. 

Finally,  consulting  his  watch,  "  Almost  ten,"  he 
announced. 

"We're  m  time?" 

"Can't  say.  .  .  .  Damn!  .  *  .  If  that 
infernal  boat  would  only  show  up  — " 

He  was  lifting  the  whistle  to  sound  a  second  sum- 
mons when  a  rowboat  rounded  a  projecting  angle 
formed  by  the  next  warehouse  down  stream,  and 
with  clanking  oar-locks  swung  in  toward  the  landing. 
On  her  thwarts  two  figures,  dipping  and  rising, 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  103 

labored  with  the  sweeps.  As  they  drew  in,  the  man 
forward  shipped  his  blades,  and  rising,  scrambled 
to  the  bows  in  order  to  grasp  an  iron  mooring- 
ring  set  in  the  wall.  The  other  awkwardly  took  in 
his  oars  and,  as  the  current  swung  the  stern  down- 
stream, placed  a  hand  palm  downward  upon  the  bot- 
tom step  to  hold  the  boat  steady. 

Calendar  waddled  to  the  brink  of  the  stage, 
grunting  with  relief. 

"  The  other  man  ?  "  he  asked  brusquely.  "  Has  he 
gone  aboard?  Or  is  this  the  first  trip  to-night?  " 

One  of  the  watermen  nodded  assent  to  the  latter 
question,  adding  gruffly :  "  Seen  nawthin'  of  'im, 
sir." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Calendar,  as  if  he  doubted 
whether  it  were  very  good  or  bad.  "  We'll  wait  a 
bit." 

"  Right-o !  "  agreed  the  waterman  civilly. 

Calendar  turned  back,  his  small  eyes  glimmering 
with  satisfaction.  Fumbling  in  one  coat  pocket  he 
brought  to  light  a  cigar-case.  "  Have  a  smoke?  " 
he  suggested  with  a  show  of  friendliness.  "  By 
Heaven,  I  was  beginnin'  to  get  worried ! " 

"As  to  what?"  inquired  Kirkwood  pointedly, 
selecting  a  cigar. 

He  got  no  immediate  reply,  but  felt  Calendar's 
sharp  eyes  upon  him  while  he  manoeuvered  with 
matches  for  a  light. 


104  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"That's  so,"  it  came  at  length.  "You  don't 
know.  I  kind  of  forgot  for  a  minute;  somehow  you 
seemed  on  the  inside." 

Kirkwood  laughed  lightly.  "  I've  experienced 
something  of  the  same  sensation  in  the  past  few 
hours." 

"  Don't  doubt  it."  Calendar  was  watching  him 
narrowly.  "  I  suppose,"  he  put  it  to  him  abruptly, 
"  you  haven't  changed  your  mind?  " 

"  Changed  my  mind?  " 

"  About  coming  in  with  me." 

"  My  dear  sir,  I  can  have  no  mind  to  change  until 
a  plain  proposition  is  laid  before  me." 

"  Hmm !  "  Calendar  puffed  vigorously  until  it 
occurred  to  him  to  change  the  subject.  "  You  won't 
mind  telling  me  what  happened  to  you  and  Dor- 
othy? " 

"  Certainly  not." 

Calendar  drew  nearer  and  Kirkwood,  lowering  his 
voice,  narrated  briefly  the  events  since  he  had  left  the 
Pless  in  Dorothy's  company. 

Her  father  followed  him  intently,  interrupting  now 
and  again  with  exclamation  or  pertinent  question ;  as, 
Had  Kirkwood  been  able  to  see  the  face  of  the  man 
in  No.  9,  Frognall  Street?  The  negative  answer 
seemed  to  disconcert  him. 

"  Youngster,  you  say  ?  Blam'  if  I  can  lay  my 
mind  to  him!  Now  if  that  Mulready  — " 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  105 

"  It  would  have  been  impossible  for  Mulready  — 
whoever  he  is  —  to  recover  and  get  to  Craven  Street 
before  we  did,"  Kirkwood  pointed  out. 

"  Well  —  go  on."  But  when  the  tale  was  told, 
"  It's  that  scoundrel,  Mulready ! "  the  man  affirmed 
with  heat.  "  It's  his  hand  —  I  know  him.  I  might 
have  had  sense  enough  to  see  he'd  take  the  first  chance 
to  hand  me  the  double-cross.  Well,  this  does  for  him, 
all  right !  "  Calendar  lowered  viciously  at  the  river. 
"  You've  been  blame'  useful,"  he  told  Kirkwood  as- 
sertively. "  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  I  don't  know 
where  Pd  be  now, —  nor  Dorothy,  either," —  an 
obvious  afterthought.  "  There's  no  particular  way  I 
can  show  my  appreciation,  I  suppose?  Money — ?  " 

"  I've  got  enough  to  last  me  till  I  reach  New  York, 
thank  you." 

"  Well,  if  the  time  ever  comes,  just  shout  for 
George  B.  I  won't  be  wanting.  ...  I  only 
wish  you  were  with  us;  but  that's  out  of  the  ques- 
tion." 

"Doubtless     ..." 

"  No  two  ways  about  it.  I  bet  anything  you've 
got  a  conscience  concealed  about  your  person.  What? 
You're  an  honest  man,  eh?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  sound  immodest,"  returned  Kirk- 
wood, amused. 

"  You  don't  need  to  worry  about  that.  .  .  . 
But  an  honest  man's  got  no  business  in  my  line."  He 


106  THE  BLACK  BAG 

glanced  again  at  his  watch.  "  Damn  that  Mulready  ! 
I  wonder  if  he  was  'cute  enough  to  take  another  way  ? 
Or  did  he  think  .  .  .  The  fool ! " 

He  cut  off  abruptly,  seeming  depressed  by  the 
thought  that  he  might  have  been  outwitted;  and, 
clasping  hands  behind  his  back,  chewed  savagely 
on  his  cigar,  watching  the  river.  Kirkwood  found 
himself  somewhat  wearied;  the  uselessness  of  his 
presence  there  struck  him  with  added  force.  He  be- 
thought him  of  his  boat-train,  scheduled  to  leave  a 
station  miles  distant,  in  an  hour  and  a  half.  If  he 
missed  it,  he  would  be  stranded  in  a  foreign  land, 
penniless  and  practically  without  friends  —  Brent- 
wick  being  away  and  all  the  rest  of  his  circle  of 
acquaintances  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel.  Yet 
he  lingered,  in  poor  company,  daring  fate  that  he 
might  see  the  end  of  the  affair.  Why? 

There  was  only  one  honest  answer  to  that  question. 
He  stayed  on  because  of  his  interest  in  a  girl  whom 
he  had  known  for  a  matter  of  three  hours,  at  most. 
It  was  insensate  folly  on  his  part,  ridiculous  from 
any  point  of  view.  But  he  made  no  move  to  go. 

The  slow  minutes  lengthened  monotonously. 

There  came  a  sound  from  the  street  level.  Cal- 
endar held  up  a  hand  of  warning.  "  Here  they  come ! 
Steady ! "  he  said  tensely.  Kirkwood,  listening  in- 
tently, interpreted  the  noise  as  a  clash  of  hoofs  upon 
cobbles. 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  107 

Calendar  turned  to  the  boat. 

"  Sheer  off,"  he  ordered.  "  Drop  out  of  sight. 
I'll  whistle  when  I  want  you." 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir." 

The  boat  slipped  noiselessly  away  with  the  current 
and  in  an  instant  was  lost  to  sight.  Calendar  plucked 
at  Kirkwood's  sleeve,  drawing  him  into  the  shadow  of 
the  steps.  "  E-easy,"  he  whispered ;  "  and,  I  say, 
lend  me  a  hand,  will  you,  if  Mulready  turns  ugly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  assented  Kirkwood,  with  a  nonchalance 
not  entirely  unassumed. 

The  racket  drew  nearer  and  ceased ;  the  hush  that 
fell  thereafter  seemed  only  accentuated  by  the  purling 
of  the  river.  It  was  ended  by  footsteps  echoing  in 
the  covered  passageway.  Calendar  craned  his  thick 
neck  round  the  shoulder  of  stone,  reconnoitering  the 
landing  and  stairway. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  said  under  his  breath.  "  I  was 
right,  after  all !  " 

A  man's  deep  tones  broke  out  above.  "  This  way. 
Mind  the  steps ;  they're  a  bit  slippery,  Miss  Dor- 
othy." 

"But  my  father — ?"  came  the  girl's  voice,  at- 
tuned to  doubt. 

"  Oh,  he'll  be  along  —  if  he  isn't  waiting  now,  in 
the  boat." 

They  descended,  the  man  leading.  At  the  foot, 
without  a  glance  to  right  or  left,  he  advanced  to  the 


108  THE  BLACK  BAG 

edge  of  the  stage,  leaning  out  over  the  rail  as  if  en- 
deavoring to  locate  the  rowboat.  At  once  the  girl 
appeared,  moving  to  his  side. 

"  But,  Mr.  Mulready  — " 

The  girl's  words  were  drowned  by  a  prolonged 
blast  on  the  boatswain's  whistle  at  her  companion's 
lips ;  the  shorter  one  followed  in  due  course.  Calen- 
dar edged  forward  from  Kirkwood's  side. 

"  But  what  shall  we  do  if  my  father  isn't  here  ? 
Wait?" 

"No;  best  not  to;  best  to  get  on  the  Aleihea  as 
soon  as  possible,  Miss  Calendar.  We  can  send  the 
boat  back." 

"  '  Once  aboard  the  lugger  the  girl  is  mine  ' —  eh, 
Mulready  ?  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  loot !  " 

If  Calendar's  words  were  jocular,  his  tone  con- 
veyed a  different  impression  entirely.  Both  man  and 
girl  wheeled  right  about  to  face  him,  the  one  with  a 
strangled  oath,  the  other  with  a  low  cry. 

"  The  devil !  "  exclaimed  this  Mr.  Mulready. 

"  Oh !  My  father !  "  the  girl  voiced  her  recogni- 
tion of  him. 

"  Not  precisely  one  and  the  same  person,"  com- 
mented Calendar  suavely.  "  But  —  er  —  thanks, 
just  as  much.  .  .  .  You  see,  Mulready,  when  I 
make  an  appointment,  I  keep  it." 

"  We'd  begun  to  get  a  bit  anxious  about  you  — " 
Mulready  began  defensively. 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  109 

"  So  I  surmised,  from  what  Mrs.  Hallam  and  Mr. 
Kirkwood  told  me.  .  .  .  Well?" 

The  man  found  no  ready  answer.  He  fell  back  a 
pace  to  the  railing,  his  features  working  with  his 
deep  chagrin.  The  murky  flare  of  the  gas-lamp 
overhead  fell  across  a  face  handsome  beyond  the 
ordinary  but  marred  by  a  sullen  humor  and  seamed 
with  indulgence:  a  face  that  seemed  hauntingly  fa- 
miliar until  Kirkwood  in  a  flash  of  visual  memory  re- 
constructed the  portrait  of  a  man  who  lingered  over 
a  dining-table,  with  two  empty  chairs  for  company. 
This,  then,  was  he  whom  Mrs.  Hallam  had  left  at 
the  Pless ;  a  tall,  strong  man,  very  heavy  about  the 
chest  and  shoulders. 

"  Why,  my  dear  friend,"  Calendar  was  taunting 
him,  "you  don't  seem  overjoyed  to  see  me,  for  all 
your  wild  anxiety !  'Pen  my  word,  you  act  as  if  you 
hadn't  expected  me  —  and  our  engagement  so  clearly 
understood,  at  that !  .  .  .  Why,  you  fool !  " — 
here  the  mask  of  irony  was  cast.  "  Did  you  think 
for  a  moment  I'd  let  myself  be  nabbed  by  that  yap 
from  Scotland  Yard?  Were  you  banking  on  that? 
I  give  you  my  faith  I  ambled  out  under  his  very! 
nose !  Dorothy,  my  dear,"  turning  impa- 

tiently from  Mulready,  "  where's  that  bag  ?  " 

The  girl  withdrew  a  puzzled  gaze  from  Mulready's 
face,  (it  was  apparent  to  Kirkwood  that  this  phase 
of  the  affair  was  no  more  enigmatic  to  him  than  to 


110  THE  BLACK  BAG 

her),  and  drew  aside  a  corner  of  her  cloak,  disclos- 
ing the  gladstone  bag,  securely  grasped  in  one  gloved 
hand. 

"  I  have  it,  thanks  to  Mr.  Kirkwood,"  she  said 
quietly. 

Kirkwood  chose  that  moment  to  advance  from  the 
shadow.  Mulready  started  and  fixed  him  with  a  trou- 
bled and  unfriendly  stare.  The  girl  greeted  him  with 
a  note  of  sincere  pleasure  in  her  surprise. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Kirkwood !  .  .  .  But  I  left  you 
at  Mrs.  Hallam's!" 

Kirkwood  bowed,  smiling  openly  at  Mulready's  dis- 
comfiture. 

"  By  your  father's  grace,  I  came  with  him,"  he 
said.  "  You  ran  away  without  saying  good  night, 
you  know,  and  I'm  a  jealous  creditor." 

She  laughed  excitedly,  turning  to  Calendar.  "  But 
you  were  to  meet  me  at  Mrs.  Hallam's  ?  " 

"  Mulready  was  good  enough  to  try  to  save  me  the 
trouble,  my  dear.  He's  an  unselfish  soul,  Mulready. 
Fortunately  it  happened  that  I  came  along  not  five 
minutes  after  he'd  carried  you  off.  How  was  that, 
Dorothy?" 

Her  glance  wavered  uneasily  between  the  two,  Mul- 
ready and  her  father.  The  former,  shrugging  to  de- 
clare his  indifference,  turned  his  back  squarely  upon 
them.  She  frowned. 

"  He  came  out  of  Mrs.  Hallam's  and  got  into  the 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  111 

four-wheeler,  saying  you  had  sent  him  to  take  your 
place,  and  would  join  us  on  the  Alethea." 

"  So-o !     How  about  it,  Mulready  ?  " 

The  man  swung  back  slowly.  "  What  you  choose 
to  think,"  he  said  after  a  deliberate  pause. 

"  Well,  never  mind !  We'll  go  over  the  matter  at 
our  leisure  on  the  Alethea." 

There  was  in  the  adventurer's  tone  a  menace,  bitter 
and  not  to  be  ignored;  which  Mulready,  saw  fit  to 
challenge. 

"I  think  not,"  he  declared;  "I  think  not.  I'm 
weary  of  your  addle-pated  suspicions.  It'd  be  plain 
to  any  one  but  a  fool  that  I  acted  for  the  best  inter- 
ests of  all  concerned  in  this  matter.  If  you're  not 
content  to  see  it  in  that  light,  I'm  done." 

"  Oh,  if  you  want  to  put  it  that  way,  I'm  not  con- 
tent, Mr.  Mulready,"  retorted  Calendar  danger- 
ously. 

"  Please  yourself.  I  bid  you  good  evening  and 
—  good-by."  The  man  took  a  step  toward  the 
stairs. 

Calendar  dropped  his  right  hand  into  his  top-coat 
pocket.  "  Just  a  minute,"  he  said  sweetly,  and 
Mulready  stopped.  Abruptly  the  fat  adventurer's 
smoldering  resentment  leaped  in  flame.  "  That'll  be 
about  all,  Mr.  Mulready !  'Bout  face,  you  hound, 
and  get  into  that  boat !  D'  you  think  I'll  temporize 
with  you  till  Doomsday?  Then  forget  it.  You're 


112  THE  BLACK  BAG 

wrong,  dead  wrong.  Your  bluff's  called,  and " — 
with  an  evil  chuckle  — "  I  hold  a  full  house,  Mul- 
ready, —  every  chamber  taken."  He  lifted  meaningly 
the  hand  in  the  coat  pocket.  "  Now,  in  with  you." 

With  a  grin  and  a  swagger  of  pure  bravado  Mul- 
ready  turned  and  obeyed.  Unnoticed  of  any,  save 
perhaps  Calendar  himself,  the  boat  had  drawn  in  at 
the  stage  a  moment  earlier.  Mulready  dropped  into 
it  and  threw  himself  sullenly  upon  the  midships 
thwart. 

"  Now,  Dorothy,  in  you  go,  my  dear,"  continued 
Calendar,  with  a  self-satisfied  wag  of  his  head. 

Half  dazed,  to  all  seeming,  she  moved  toward  the 
boat.  With  clumsy  and  assertive  gallantry  her  fa- 
ther stepped  before  her,  offering  his  hand, —  his 
hand  which  she  did  not  touch ;  for,  in  the  act  of  de- 
scending, she  remembered  and  swung  impulsively  back 
to  Kirkwood. 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Kirkwood ;  good  night, —  I 
shan't  forget." 

He  took  her  hand  and  bowed  above  it ;  but  when  his 
head  was  lifted,  he  still  retained  her  fingers  in  a  lin- 
gering clasp. 

"  Good  night,"  he  said  reluctantly. 

The  crass  incongruity  of  her  in  that  setting  smote 
him  with  renewed  force.  Young,  beautiful,  dainty, 
brilliant  and  graceful  in  her  pretty  evening  gown,  she 
figured  strangely  against  the  gloomy  background  of 


"  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  113 

the  river,  in  those  dull  and  mean  surroundings  of  dank 
stone  and  rusted  iron.  She  was  like  (he  thought  ex- 
travagantly) a  whiff  of  flower-fragrance  lost  in  the 
miasmatic  vapors  of  a  slough. 

The  innocent  appeal  and  allure  of  her  face,  up- 
turned to  his  beneath  the  gas-light,  wrought  com- 
passionately upon  his  sensitive  and  generous  heart. 
He  was  aware  of  a  little  surge  of  blind  rage  against 
the  conditions  that  had  brought  her  to  that  spot, 
and  against  those  whom  he  held  responsible  for  those 
conditions. 

In  a  sudden  flush  of  daring  he  turned  and  nodded 
coolly  to  Calendar.  "  With  your  permission,"  he 
said  negligently ;  and  drew  the  girl  aside  to  the  angle 
of  the  stairway. 

"  Miss  Calendar  — "  he  began ;  but  was  inter- 
rupted. 

"Here  — I  say!" 

Calendar  had  started  toward  him  angrily. 

Kirkwood  calmly  waved  him  back.  "  I  want  a 
word  in  private  with  your  daughter,  Mr.  Calendar," 
he  announced  with  quiet  dignity.  "  I  don't  think 
you'll  deny  me?  I've  saved  you  some  slight  trouble 
to-night." 

Disgruntled,  the  adventurer  paused.  "  Oh  —  all 
right,"  he  grumbled.  "  I  don't  see  what  .  .  ." 
He  returned  to  the  boat. 

"  Forgive  me,  Miss  Calendar,"  continued  Kirkwood 


114  THE  BLACK  BAG 

nervously.     "  I    know    I've    no    right    to    interfere, 
but  — " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Kirkwood?  " 

" — but  hasn't  this  gone  far  enough?"  he  flound- 
ered unhappily.  "  I  can't  like  the  look  of  things. 
Are  you  sure  —  sure  that  it's  all  right  —  with  you,  I 
mean?  " 

She  did  not  answer  at  once ;  but  her  eyes  were  kind 
and  sympathetic.  He  plucked  heart  of  their  toler- 
ance. 

"  It  isn't  too  late,  yet,"  he  argued.  "  Let  me  take 
you  to  your  friends, —  you  must  have  friends  in  the 
city.  But  this  —  this  midnight  flight  down  the 
Thames,  this  atmosphere  of  stealth  and  suspicion, 
this  — " 

"  But  my  place  is  with  my  father,  Mr.  Kirkwood," 
she  interposed.  "  I  daren't  doubt  him  —  dare  I  ?  " 

"I     .     .     .     suppose  not." 

"  So  I  must  go  with  him.  .  .  .  I'm  glad  — • 
thank  you  for  caring,  dear  Mr.  Kirkwood.  And 
again,  good  night." 

"  Good  luck  attend  you,"  he  muttered,  following 
her  to  the  boat. 

Calendar  helped  her  in  and  turned  back  to  Kirk- 
wood with  a  look  of  arch  triumph;  Kirkwood  won- 
dered if  he  had  overheard.  Whether  or  no,  he  could 
afford  to  be  magnanimous.  Seizing  Kirkwood'a 
hand,  he  pumped  it  vigorously. 


«  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  115 

"  My  dear  boy,  you've  been  an  angel  in  disguise ! 
And  I  guess  you  think  me  the  devil  in  masquerade." 
He  chuckled,  in  high  conceit  with  himself  over  the 
turn  of  affairs.  "  Good  night  and  —  and  fare  thee 
well !  "  He  dropped  into  the  boat,  seating  himself 
to  face  the  recalcitrant  Mulready.  "  Cast  off, 
there ! " 

The  boat  dropped  away,  the  oars  lifting  and  fall- 
ing. With  a  weariful  sense  of  loneliness  and  disap- 
pointment, Kirkwood  hung  over  the  rail  to  watch  them 
out  of  sight. 

A  dozen  feet  of  water  lay  between  the  stage  and 
the  boat.  The  girl's  dress  remained  a  spot  of  cheer- 
ful color;  her  face  was  a  blur.  As  the  watermen 
swung  the  bows  down-stream,  she  looked  back,  lifting 
an  arm  spectral  in  its  white  sheath.  Kirkwood  raised 
his  hat. 

The  boat  gathered  impetus,  momentarily  diminish- 
ing in  the  night's  illusory  perspective;  presently  it 
was  little  more  than  a  fugitive  blot,  gliding  swiftly  in 
midstream.  And  then,  it  was  gone  entirely,  engulfed 
by  the  obliterating  darkness. 

Somewhat  wearily  the  young  man  released  the  rail- 
ing and  ascended  the  stairs.  "  And  that  is  the  end !  " 
he  told  himself,  struggling  with  an  acute  sense  of 
personal  injury.  He  had  been  hardly  used.  For  a 
few  hours  his  life  had  been  lightened  by  the  ineffable 
glamor  of  Romance;  mystery,  and  adventure  had  en- 


116  THE  BLACK  BAG 

gaged  him,  exorcising  for  the  time  the  Shade  of 
Care;  he  had  served  a  fair  woman  and  been  associ- 
ated with  men  whose  ways,  however  questionable,  were 
the  ways  of  courage,  hedged  thickly  about  with  per- 
ils. 

All  that  was  at  an  end.  Prosaic  and  workaday  to- 
morrows confronted  him  in  endless  and  dreary  per- 
spective ;  and  he  felt  again  upon  his  shoulder  the 
bony  hand  of  his  familiar,  Care.  .  .  . 

He  sighed:     "Ah,  well!" 

Disconsolate  and  aggrieved,  he  gained  the  street. 
He  was  miles  from  St.  Pancras,  foot-weary,  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes  lost. 

In  this  extremity,  Chance  smiled  upon  him.  The 
cabby  who,  at  his  initial  instance,  had  traveled  this 
weary  way  from  Quadrant  Mews,  after  the  manner 
of  his  kind,  ere  turning  back,  had  sought  surcease  of 
fatigue  at  the  nearest  public;  from  afar  Kirkwood 
saw  the  four-wheeler  at  the  curb,  and  made  all  haste 
toward  it. 

Entering  the  gin-mill  he  found  the  cabby,  soothed 
him  with  bitter,  and,  instructing  him  for  St.  Pan- 
cras with  all  speed,  dropped,  limp  and  listless  with 
fatigue,  into  the  conveyance. 

As  it  moved,  he  closed  his  eyes;  the  face  of 
Dorothy  Calendar  shone  out  from  the  blank  wall  of 
his  consciousness,  like  an  illuminated  picture  cast  upon 
a  screen.  She  smiled  upon  him,  her  head  high,  her 


«  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  117 

eyes  tender  and  trustful.  And  he  thought  that  her 
scarlet  lips  were  sweet  with  promise  and  her  glance 
a-brim  with  such  a  light  as  he  had  never  dreamed  to 
know. 

And  now  that  he  knew  it  and  desired  it,  it  was  too 
late ;  an  hour  gone  he  might,  by  a  nod  of  his  head, 
have  cast  his  fortunes  with  hers  for  weal  or  woe. 
But  now  .  .  . 

Alas  and  alackaday,  that  Romance  was  no  more! 


VII 

DIVERSIONS  OF  A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN, RESUMED 

From  the  commanding  elevation  of  the  box,  "  Three 
'n5  six,"  enunciated  the  cabby,  his  tone  that  of  a 
man  prepared  for  trouble,  acquainted  with  trouble, 
inclined  to  give  trouble  a  welcome.  His  bloodshot 
eyes  blinked  truculently  at  his  alighted  fare. 
"  Three  'n'  six,"  he  iterated  aggressively. 

An  adjacent  but  theretofore  abstracted  policeman 
pricked  up  his  ears  and  assumed  an  intelligent  ex- 
pression. •*• 

"  Bermondsey  OP  Stairs  to  Sain'  Pancras,"  argued 
the  cabby  assertively ;  "  seven  mile  by  th'  radius ; 
three  'n'  six !  " 

Kirkwood  stood  on  the  outer  station  platform,  near 
the  entrance  to  third-class  waiting-rooms.  Continu- 
ing to  fumble  through  his  pockets  for  an  elusive  sov- 
ereign purse,  he  looked  up  mildly  at  the  man. 

"  All  right,  cabby,"  he  said,  with  pacific  purpose ; 
"  you'll  get  your  fare  in  half  a  shake." 

"  Three  'n'  six ! "  croaked  the  cabby,  like  a  blowsy 
and  vindictive  parrot. 

The  bobby  strolled  nearer. 
118 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  119 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Kirkwood,  mildly  diverted.  "  Why 
not  sing  it,  cabby?" 

"  Lor'  lumme !  "  The  cabby  exploded  with  indig- 
nation, continuing  to  give  a  lifelike  imitation  of  a 
rumpled  parrot.  "  I  'ad  trouble  enough  wif  you  at 
Bermondsey  OP  Stairs,  hover  that  quid  you  promised, 
didn't  I?  Sing  it!  My  heye!" 

"  Quid,  cabby?"  And  then,  remembering  that  he 
had  promised  the  fellow  a  sovereign  for  fast  driving 
from  Quadrant  Mews,  Kirkwood  grinned  broadly,  eyes 
twinkling;  for  Mulready  must  have  fallen  heir  to 
that  covenant.  "  But  you  got  the  sovereign  ?  You 
got  it,  didn't  you,  cabby  ?  " 

The  driver  affirmed  the  fact  with  unnecessary  heat 
and  profanity  and  an  amendment  to  the  effect  that 
he  would  hsLve  spoiled  his  fare's  sanguinary  conk  had 
the  outcome  been  less  satisfactory. 

The  information  proved  so  amusing  that  Kirkwood, 
chuckling,  forbore  to  resent  the  manner  of  its  de- 
livery, and,  abandoning  until  a  more  favorable  time 
the  chase  of  the  coy  sovereign  purse,  extracted  from 
one  trouser  pocket  half  a  handful  of  large  English 
small  change. 

"  Three  shillings,  six-pence,"  he  counted  the  coins 
into  the  cabby's  grimy  and  bloated  paw;  and  added 
quietly :  "  The  exact  distance  is  rather  less  than 
four  miles,  my  man ;  your  fare,  preciselytwo  shillings. 
You  may  keep  the  extra  eighteen  pence,  for  being 


120  THE  BLACK  BAG 

such  a  conscientious  blackguard, —  or  talk  it  over  with 
the  officer  here.  Please  yourself." 

He  nodded  to  the  bobby,  who,  favorably  impressed 
by  the  silk  hat  which  Kirkwood,  by  diligent  applica- 
tion of  his  sleeve  during  the  cross-town  ride,  had  man- 
aged to  restore  to  a  state  somewhat  approximating 
its  erstwhile  luster,  smiled  at  the  cabby  a  cold,  hard 
smile.  Whereupon  the  latter,  smirking  in  unabashed 
triumph,  spat  on  the  pavement  at  Kirkwood's  feet, 
gathered  up  the  reins,  and  wheeled  out. 

"A  'ard  lot,  sir,"  commented  the  policeman,  jerk- 
ing his  helmeted  head  towards  the  vanishing  four- 
wheeler. 

"  Right  you  are,"  agreed  Kirkwood  amiably,  still 
tickled  by  the  knowledge  that  Mulready  had  been 
obliged  to  pay  three  times  over  for  the  ride  that  ended 
in  his  utter  discomfiture.  Somehow,  Kirkwood  had 
conceived  no  liking  whatever  for  the  man ;  Calendar 
he  could,  at  a  pinch,  tolerate  for  his  sense  of  humor, 
but  Mulready  —  !  "A  surly  dog,"  he  thought 
him. 

Acknowledging  the  policeman's  salute  and  restor- 
ing two  shillings  and  a  few  fat  copper  pennies  to  his 
pocket,  he  entered  the  vast  and  echoing  train-shed. 
In  the  act,  his  attention  was  attracted  and  immediately 
riveted  by  the  spectacle  of  a  burly  luggage  navvy  in 
a  blue  jumper  in  the  act  of  making  off  with  a  large, 
folding  sign-board,  of  which  the  surface  was  lettered 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  121 

expansively  with  the  advice,  in  red  against  a  white 
background : 

BOAT-TRAIN  LEAVES  ON  TEACK  3 

Incredulous  yet  aghast  the  young  man  gave  in- 
stant chase  to  the  navvy,  overhauling  him  with  no 
great  difficulty.  For  your  horny-handed  British 
working-man  is  apparently  born  with  two  golden 
aphorisms  in  his  mouth :  "  Look  before  you  leap," 
and  "  Haste  makes  waste."  He  looks  continually, 
seldom,  if  ever,  leaps,  and  never  is  prodigal  of  his 
leisure. 

Excitedly  Kirkwood  touched  the  man's  arm  with  a 
detaining  hand.  "Boat-train?"  he  gasped,  point- 
ing at  the  board. 

"  Left  ten  minutes  ago,  thank  you,  sir." 

"  Wel-1,  but  .  .  . !  Of  course  I  can  get  an- 
other train  at  Tilbury  ?  " 

"  For  yer  boat?  No,  sir,  thank  you,  sir.  Won't 
be  another  tryne  till  mornin',  sir." 

"Oh-h!     .     .     ." 

Aimlessly  Kirkwood  drifted  away,  his  mind  a 
blank. 

Sometime  later  he  found  himself  on  the  steps  out- 
side the  station,  trying  to  stare  out  of  countenance  a 
glaring  electric  mineral-water  advertisement  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  Euston  Road. 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

He  was  stranded.     .     .     . 

Beyond  the  spiked  iron  fence  that  enhedges  the 
incurving  drive,  the  roar  of  traffic,  human,  wheel  and 
hoof,  rose  high  for  all  the  lateness  of  the  hour: 
sidewalks  groaning  with  the  restless  contact  of  hun- 
dreds of  ill-shod  feet ;  the  roadway  thundering  — • 
hansoms,  four-wheelers,  motor-cars,  dwarfed  coster- 
mongers'  donkey-carts  and  ponderous,  rumbling, 
C.-P.  motor-vans,  struggling  for  place  and  progress. 
For  St.  Pancras  never  sleeps. 

The  misty  air  swam  luminous  with  the  light  of  elec- 
tric signs  as  with  the  radiance  of  some  lurid  and 
sinister  moon.  The  voice  of  London  sounded  in  Kirk- 
wood's  ears,  like  the  ominous  purring  of  a  somnolent 
brute  beast,  resting,  gorged  and  satiated,  ere  rising 
again  to  devour.  To  devour  — 

Stranded!     . 

Distracted,  he  searched  pocket  after  pocket,  locat- 
ing his  watch,  cigar-  and  cigarette-cases,  match-box, 
penknife  —  all  the  minutiae  of  pocket-hardware  af- 
fected by  civilized  man ;  with  old  letters,  a  card-case, 
a  square  envelope  containing  his  steamer  ticket;  but 
no  sovereign  purse.  His  small-change  pocket  held 
less  than  three  shillings  —  two  and  eight,  to  be  exact 
—  and  a  brass  key,  which  he  failed  to  recognize  as 
one  of  his  belongings. 

And  that  was  all.  At  sometime  during  the  night 
he  had  lost  (or  been  cunningly  bereft  of?)  that  little 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  123 

purse  of  chamois-skin  containing  the  three  golden 
sovereigns  which  he  had  been  husbanding  to  pay  his 
steamer  expenses,  and  which,  if  only  he  had  them  now, 
would  stand  between  him  and  starvation  and  a  night 
in  the  streets. 

And,  searching  his  heart,  he  found  it  brimming 
with  gratitude  to  Mulready,  for  having  relieved  him 
of  the  necessity  of  settling  with  the  cabby. 

"Vagabond?"  said  Kirkwood  musingly.  "Vaga- 
bond? "  He  repeated  the  word  softly  a  number  of 
times,  to  get  the  exact  flavor  of  it,  and  found  it  little 
to  his  taste.  And  yet  .  .  . 

Pie  thrust  both  hands  deep  in  his  trouser  pockets 
and  stared  purposelessly  into  space,  twisting  his  eye- 
brows out  of  alignment  and  crookedly,  protruding  his 
lower  lip. 

If  Brentwick  were  only  in  town  — !  But  he  wasn't, 
and  wouldn't  be,  within  the  week. 

"  No  good  waiting  here,"  he  concluded.  Compos- 
ing his  face,  he  reentered  the  station.  There  were  his 
trunks,  of  course.  He  couldn't  leave  them,  standing 
on  the  station  platform  for  ever. 

He  found  the  luggage-room  and  interviewed  a  me-* 
chanically  courteous  attendant,  who,  as  the  result  of 
profound  deliberation,  advised  him  to  try  his  luck  at 
the  lost-luggage  room,  across  the  station.  He  ac- 
cepted the  advice;  it  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that 
his  effects  had  not  been  conveyed  to  the  Tilbury  dock ; 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

they  could  not  have  been  loaded  into  the  luggage  van 
without  his  personal  supervision.  Still,  anything  was 
liable  to  happen  when  his  unlucky  star  was  in  the  as- 
cendant. 

V 

He  found  them  in  the  lost-luggage  room. 

A  clerk  helped  him  identify  the  articles  and  ulti- 
mately clucked  with  a  perfunctory  note :  "  Sixpence 
each,  please." 

"I —  ah  — pardon?" 

"  Sixpence  each,  the  fixed  charge,  sir.  For  every 
twenty-four  hours  or  fraction  thereof,  sixpence  per 
parcel." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  so  much,"  said  Kirkwood  sweetly. 
"  I  will  call  to-morrow." 

"  Very  good,  sir.     Thank  you,  sir." 

"  Five  times  sixpence  is  two-and-six,"  Kirkwood 
computed,  making  his  way  hastily  out  of  the  station, 
lest  a  worse  thing  befall  him.  "  No,  bless  your  heart ! 
• — not  while  two  and  eight  represents  the  sum  total 
of  my  fortune." 

He  wandered  out  into  the  night ;  he  could  not  linger 
round  the  station  till  dawn ;  and  what  profit  to  him  if 
he  did?  Even  were  he  to  ransom  his  trunks,  one  can 
scarcely  change  one's  clothing  in  a  public  waiting- 
room. 

Somewhere  in  the  distance  a  great  clock  chimed  a 
single  stroke,  freighted  sore  with  melancholy.  It 
knelled  the  passing  of  the  half -hour  after  midnight; 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  125 

a  witching  hour,  when  every  public  shuts  up  tight, 
and  gentlemen  in  top-hats  and  evening  dress  are 
doomed  to  pace  the  pave  till  day  (barring  they  have 
homes  or  visible  means  of  support) — till  day,  when 
pawnshops  open  and  such  personal  effects  as  watches 
and  hammered  silver  cigar-cases  may  be  hypothecated. 

Sable  garments  fluttering,  Care  fell  into  step  with 
Philip  Kirkwood ;  Care  the  inexorable  slipped  a  skele- 
ton arm  through  his  and  would  not  be  denied;  Care 
the  jade  clung  affectionately  to  his  side,  refusing  to 
be  jilted. 

"  Ah,  you  thought  you  would  forget  me  ? " 
chuckled  the  fleshless  lips  by  his  ear.  "  But  no,  my 
boy ;  I'm  with  you  now,  for  ever  and  a  day.  '  Misery 
loves  company/  and  it  wouldn't  be  pretty  of  me  to  de- 
sert you  in  this  extremity,  would  it?  Come,  let  us 
beguile  the  hours  till  dawn  with  conversation.  Here's 
a  sprightly  subject:  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Mr. 
Kirkwood?  What  are  you,  going  to  do?  " 

But  Kirkwood  merely  shook  a  stubborn  head  and 
gazed  straight  before  him,  walking  fast  through  ways 
he  did  not  recognize,  and  pretending  not  to  hear. 
None  the  less  the  sense  of  Care's  solicitous  query 
struck  like  a  pain  into  his  consciousness.  What  was 
he  to  do? 

An  hour  passed. 

Denied  the  opportunity  to  satisfy  its  beast  hunger 
and  thirst,  humanity  goes  off  to  its  beds.  In  that  hour 


126  THE  BLACK  BAG 

London  quieted  wonderfully;  the  streets  achieved  an 
effect  of  deeper  darkness,  the  skies,  lowering,  looked 
down  with  a  blush  less  livid  for  the  shamelessness  of 
man ;  cab  ranks  lengthened ;  solitary  footsteps  added 
unto  themselves  loud,  alarming,  off ensive  echoes ;  po- 
licemen, strolling  with  lamps  blazing  on  their  breasts, 
became  as  lightships  in  a  trackless  sea ;  each  new-found 
street  unfolded  its  perspective  like  a  canyon  of  mys- 
tery, arid  yet  teeming  with  a  hundred  masked  hazards  ; 
the  air  acquired  a  smell  more  clear  and  clean,  an  effect 
more  volatile ;  and  the  night-mist  thickened  until  it 
studded  one's  attire  with  myriads  of  tiny  buttons, 
bright  as  diamond  dust. 

Through  this  long  hour  Kirkwood  walked  without 
a  pause. 

Another  clock,  somewhere,  clanged  resonantly  twice. 

The  world  was  very  still.     .     .     . 

And  so,  wandering  foot-loose  in  a  wilderness  of 
•ways,  turning  aimlessly,  now  right,  now  left,  he 
found  himself  in  a  street  he  knew,  yet  seemed  not  to 
know :  a  silent,  black  street  one  brief  block  in  length, 
walled  with  dead  and  lightless  dwellings,  haunted  by 
his  errant  memory;  a  street  whose  atmosphere  was 
'heavy  with  impalpable  essence  of  desuetude ;  in 
two  words,  Frognall  Street. 

Kirkwood  identified  it  with  a  start  and  a  guilty 
tremor.  He  stopped  stock-still,  in  an  unreasoning 
state  of  semi-panic,  arrested  by  a  silly  impulse  to  turn 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  127 

and  fly ;  as  if  the  bobby,  whom  he  descried  approach- 
ing him  with  measured  stride,  pausing  now  and  again 
to  try  a  door  or  flash  his  bull's-eye  down  an  area,  were 
to  be  expected  to  identify  the  man  responsible  for  that 
damnable  racket  raised  ere  midnight  in  vacant  Num- 
ber 9! 

Oddly  enough,  the  shock  of  recognition  brought 
him  to  his  senses, —  temporarily.  He  was  even  able 
to  indulge  himself  in  a  quiet,  sobering  grin  at  his 
own  folly.  He  passed  the  policeman  with  a  nod  and 
a  cool  word  in  response  to  the  man's  good-natured, 
"  Good-night,  sir."  Number  9  was  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street;  and  he  favored  its  blank  and  dreary 
elevation  with  a  prolonged  and  frank  stare  —  that 
profited  him  nothing,  by  the  way.  For  a  crazy  no- 
tion popped  incontinently  into  his  head,  and  would 
not  be  cast  forth. 

At  the  corner  he  swerved  and  crossed,  still  pos- 
sessed of  his  devil  of  inspiration.  It  would  be  unfair 
to  him  to  say  that  he  did  not  struggle  to  resist  it,  for 
he  did,  because  it  was  fairly  and  egregiously  asinine; 
yet  struggling,  his  feet  trod  the  path  to  which  it 
tempted  him. 

"Why,"  he  expostulated  feebly,  "I  might's  well' 
turn  back  and  beat  that  bobby  over  the  head  with  my 
cane!  .  .  ." 

But  at  the  moment  his  hand  was  in  his  change 
pocket,  feeling  over  that  same  brass  door-key  which 


,128  THE  BLACK  BAG 

earlier  he  had  been  unable  to  account  for,  and  he  was 
informing  himself  how  very  easy  it  would  have  been 
for  the  sovereign  purse  to  have  dropped  from  his 
waistcoat  pocket  while  he  was  sliding  on  his  ear  down 
the  dark  staircase.  To  recover  it  meant,  at  the  least, 
shelter  for  the  night,  followed  by  a  decent,  comfort- 
&Ble  and  sustaining  morning  meal.  Fortified  by  both 
he  could  redeem  his  luggage,  change  to  clothing  more 
suitable  for  daylight  traveling,  pawn  his  valuables, 
and  enter  into  negotiations  with  the  steamship  com- 
pany for  permission  to  exchange  his  passage,  with  a 
sum  to  boot,  for  transportation  on  another  liner.  A 
most  feasible  project!  A  temptation  all  but  irresist- 
ible! 

But  then  —  the  risk.  .  .  .  Supposing  (for 
the  sake  of  argument.)  the  customary  night-watch- 
man to  have  taken  up  a  transient  residence  in  Num- 
ber 9 ;  supposing  the  police  to  have  entered  with  him 
and  found  the  stunned  man  on  the  second  floor :  would 
the  watchman  not  be  vigilant  for  another  nocturnal 
marauder?  would  not  the  police  now,  more  than  ever, 
be  keeping  a  wary  eye  on  that  house  of  suspicious 
happenings  ? 

Decidedly,  to  reenter  it  would  be  to  incur  a  deadly 
risk.  And  yet,  undoubtedly,  beyond  question!  his 
sovereign  purse  was  waiting  for  him  somewhere  on  the 
second  flight  of  stairs;  whileas  his  means  of  clan- 
i  destine  entry  lay  warm  in  his  fingers  —  the  key  to 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  129 

the  dark  entry,  which  he  had  by  force  of  habit 
pocketed  after  locking  the  door. 

He  came  to  the  Hog-in-the-Pound.  Its  windows 
were  dim  with  low-turned  gas-lights.  Down  the  cov- 
ered alleyway,  Quadrant  Mews  slept  in  a  dusk  but  fit- 
fully relieved  by  a  lamp  or  two  round  which  the 
friendly  mist  clung  close  and  thick. 

There  would  be  none  to  see 

Skulking,  throat  swollen  with  fear,  heart  beating 
like  a  snare-drum,  Kirkwood  took  his  chance.  But- 
toning his  overcoat  collar  up  to  his  chin  and  cursing 
the  fact  that  his  hat  must  stand  out  like  a  chimney- 
pot on  a  detached  house,  he  sped  on  tiptoe  down  the 
cobbled  way  and  close  beneath  the  house-walls  of 
Quadrant  Mews.  But,  half-way  in,  he  stopped,  con- 
founded by  an  unforeseen  difficulty.  How  was  he  to 
identify  the  narrow  entry  of  Number  9,  whose  coun- 
terparts doubtless  communicated  with  the  mews  from 
every  residence  on  four  sides  of  the  city  block? 

The  low  inner  tenements  were  yet  high  enough  to 
hide  the  rear  elevations  of  Frognall  Street  houses,  and 
the  mist  was  heavy  besides ;  otherwise  he  had  made  shift 
to  locate  Number  9  by  ticking  off  the  dwellings  from 
the  corner.  If  he  went  on,  hit  or  miss,  the  odds  were 
anything-you-please  to  one  that  he  would  blunder  into 
the  servant's  quarters  of  some  inhabited  house,  and  — 
be  promptly  and  righteously  sat  upon  by  the  service- 
staff,  while  the  bobby  was  summoned. 


130  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Be  that  as  it  might  —  he  almost  lost  his  head  when; 
he  realized  this  —  escape  was  already  cut  off  by  the 
way  he  had  come.  Some  one,  or,  rather,  some  two 
men  were  entering  the  alley.  He  could  hear  the 
tramping  and  shuffle  of  clumsy  feet,  and  voices  that 
muttered  indistinctly.  One  seemed  to  trip  over  some- 
thing, and  cursed.  The  other  laughed;  the  voices 
grew  more  loud.  They  were  coming  his  way.  He 
dared  no  longer  vacillate. 

But  —  which  passage  should  he  choose? 

He  moved  on  with  more  haste  than  discretion.  One 
heel  slipped  on  a  cobble  time-worn  to  glassy  smooth- 
ness ;  he  lurched,  caught  himself  up  in  time  to  save 
a  fall,  lost  his  hat,  recovered  it,  and  was  discovered. 
A  voice,  maudlin  with  drink,  hailed  and  called  upon 
him  to  stand  and  give  an  account  of  himself,  "  like 
a  goo'  feller."  Another  tempted  him  with  offers  of 
drink  and  sociable  confabulation.  He  yielded  not; 
adamantine  to  the  seductive  lure,  he  picked  up  his 
heels  and  ran.  Those  behind  him,  remarking  with  re- 
sentment the  amazing  fact  that  an  intimate  of  the 
mews  should  run  away  from  liquor,  cursed  and  made 
after  him,  veering,  staggering,  howling  like  ravening 
animals. 

For  all  their  burden  of  intoxication,  they  knew 
the  ground  by  instinct  and  from  long  associa- 
tion. They  gained  on  him.  Across  the  way  a  win- 
dow-sash went  up  with  a  bang,  and  a  woman  screamed. 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  i!31 

Through  the  only  other  entrance  to  the  mews  a  be- 
lated cab  was  homing;  its  driver,  getting  wind  of 
the  unusual,  pulled  up,  blocking  the  way,  and  added 
his  advice  to  the  uproar. 

Caught  thus  between  two  fires,  and  with  his  perse- 
cutors hard  upon  him,  Kirkwood  dived  into  the 
nearest  black  hole  of  a  passageway  and  in  sheer  des- 
peration flung  himself,  key  in  hand,  against  the  door 
at  the  end.  Mark  how  his  luck  served  him  who  had 
forsworn  her!  He  found  a  keyhole  and  inserted  the 
key.  It  turned.  So  did  the  knob.  The  door  gave 
inward.  He  fell  in  with  it,  slammed  it,  shot  the  bolts, 
and,  panting,  leaned  against  its  panels,  in  a  pit  of 
everlasting  night  but  —  saved  !  —  for  the  time  being, 
at  all  events. 

Outside  somebody  brushed  against  one  wall,  can- 
noned to  the  other,  brought  up  with  a  crash  against 
the  door,  and,  perforce  at  a  standstill,  swore  from  his 
heart. 

"Gorblimy!"  he  declared  feelingly.  "I'd  'a' 
took  my  oath  I  sore  'm  run  in  'ere ! "  And  then,  in 
answer  to  an  inaudible  question :  "  No,  'e  ain't. 
Gorn  an'  let  the  fool  go  to  'ell.  'Oo  wants  'im  to 
share  goo'  liker?  Not  I!  .  .  ." 

Joining  his  companion  he  departed,  leaving  behind 
him  a  trail  of  sulphur-tainted  air.  The  mews  quieted 
gradually. 

Indoors  Kirkwood  faced  unhappily  the  enigma  of 


132  THE  BLACK  BAG 

fortuity,  wondering:  Was  this  by  any  possibility 
Number  9? 

The  key  had  fitted ;  the  bolts  -had  been  drawn  on 
the  inside ;  and  while  the  key  had  been  one  of  ordinary 
pattern  and  would  no  doubt  have  proven  effectual 
with  any  one  of  a  hundred  common  locks,  the  finger 
of  probability  seemed  to  indicate  that  his  luck  had 
brought  him  back  to  Number  9. 

In  spite  of  all  this,  he  was  sensible  of  little  confi- 
dence ;  though  this  were  truly  Number  9,  his  freedom 
still  lay  on  the  knees  of  the  gods,  his  very  life,  be- 
like, was  poised,  tottering,  on  a  pinnacle  of  chance. 

In  the  end,  taking  heart  of  desperation,  he  stooped 
and  removed  his  shoes ;  a  precaution  which  later  ap- 
pealed to  his  sense  of  the  ridiculous,  in  view  of  the 
racket  he  had  raised  in  entering,  but  which  at  the 
moment  seemed  most  natural  and  in  accordance  with 
common  sense.  Then  rising,  he  held  his  breath,  star- 
ing and  listening.  About  him  the  pitch  darkness  was 
punctuated  with  fading  points  of  fire,  and  in  his  ears 
was  a  noise  of  strange  whisperings,  very  creepy  — 
until,  gritting  his  teeth,  he  controlled  his  nerves  and 
gradually  realized  that  he  was  alone,  the  silence  un- 
disturbed. 

He  went  forward  gingerly,  feeling  his  way  like 
a  blind  man  on  strange  ground.  Ere  long  he 
stumbled  over  a  door-sill  and  found  that  the  walls  of 
the  passage  had  fallen  away ;  he  had  entered  a  room, 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  133 

a  black  cavern  of  indeterminate  dimensions.  Across 
this  he  struck  at  random,  walked  himself  flat  against 
a  wall,  felt  his  way  along  to  an  open  door,  and  passed 
through  to  another  apartment  as  dark  as  the  first. 
Here,  endeavoring  to  make  a  circuit  of  the  walls,  he 
succeeded  in  throwing  himself  bodily  across  a  bed, 
which  creaked  horribly ;  and  for  a  full  minute  lay  as 
he  had  fallen,  scarce  daring  to  think.  But  nothing 
followed,  and  he  got  up  and  found  a  shut  door  which 
let  him  into  yet  a  third  room,  wherein  he  barked  both 
shins  on  a  chair;  and  escaped  to  a  fourth  whose  at- 
mosphere was  highly  flavored  with  reluctant  odors  of 
bygone  cookery,  stale  water  and  damp  plumbing  — 
probably  the  kitchen.  Thence  progressing  over 
complaining  floors  through  what  may  have  been  the 
servants'  hall,  a  large  room  with  a  table  in  the  middle 
and  a  number  of  promiscuous  chairs  (witness  his  tor- 
tured shins!),  he  finally  blundered  into  the  basement 
hallway. 

By  now  a  little  calmer,  he  felt  assured  that  this 
was  really  Number  9,  Frognall  Street,  and  a  little! 
happier  about  it  all,  though  not  even  momentarily 
forgetful  of  the  potential  police  and  night-watchman. 
However,  he  mounted  the  steps  to  the  ground  floor 
without  adventure  and  found  himself  at  last  in  the 
same  dim  and  ghostly  hall  which  he  had  entered  some 
six  hours  before ;  the  mockery  of  dusk  Admitted  by 
the  fan-light  was  just  strong  enough  to  enable  him 


134  THE  BLACK  BAG 

to  identify  the  general  lay  of  the  land  and  arrange- 
ment of  furniture. 

More  confidently  with  each  uncontested  step,  he 
'Continued  his  quest.  Elation  was  stirring  his  spirit 
when  he  gained  the  first  floor  and  moved  toward  the 
foot  of  the  second  flight,  approaching  the  spot 
whereat  he  was  to  begin  the  search  for  the  missing 
jpurse.  The  knowledge  that  he  lacked  means  of  ob- 
taining illumination  deterred  him  nothing ;  he  had 
some  hope  of  finding  matches  in  one  of  the  adjacent 
rooms,  but,  failing  that,  was  prepared  to  ascend 
the  stairs  on  all  fours,  feeling  every  inch  of  their 
surface,  if  it  took  hours.  Ever  an  optimistic  soul, 
instinctively  inclined  to  father  faith  with  a  hope,  he 
felt  supremely  confident  that  his  search  would  not 
prove  fruitless,  that  he  would  win  early  release  from 
his  temporary  straits. 

And  thus  it  fell  out  that,  at  the  instant  he  was 
thinking  it  time  to  begin  to  crawl  and  hunt,  his 
stockinged  feet  came  into  contact  with  something 
heavy,  yielding,  warm  —  something  that  moved, 
moaned,  and  caused  his  hair  to  bristle  and  his  flesh  to 
creep. 

We  will  make  allowances  for  him ;  all  along  he  had 
gone  on  the  assumption  that  his  antagonist  of  the 
dark  stairway  would  have  recovered  and  made  off  with 
all  expedition,  in  the  course  of  ten  or  twenty  min- 
utes, at  most,  from  the  time  of  his  accident.  To  find 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  135 

him  still  there  was  something  entirely  outside  of 
Kirkwood's  reckoning:  he  would  as  soon  have 
thought  to  encounter  say,  Calendar, —  would  have 
preferred  the  latter,  indeed.  But  this  fellow  whose 
disability  was  due  to  his  own  interference,  who  was 
reasonably  to  be  counted  upon  to  raise  the  very  deuce 
and  all  of  a  row  1 

The  initial  shock,  however  shattering  to  his 
equanimity,  soon  lost  effect.  The  man  evidently  re- 
mained unconscious,  in  fact  had  barely  moved ;  while 
the  moan  that  Kirkwood  heard,  had  been  distressingly; 
faint. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  murmured  the  young  man.  "  He 
must  be  in  a  pretty  bad  way,  for  sure ! "  He  knelt, 
compassion  gentling  his  heart,  and  put  one  hand  to 
the  insentient  face.  A  warm  sweat  moistened  his  fin- 
gers ;  his  palm  was  fanned  by  steady  respiration. 

Immeasurably  perplexed,  the  American  rose,  slipped 
on  his  shoes  and  buttoned  them,  thinking  hard  the 
while.  What  ought  he  to  do?  Obviously  flight  sug- 
gested itself, —  incontinent  flight,  anticipating  the 
man's  recovery.  On  the  other  hand,  indubitably  the 
latter  had  sustained  such  injury  that  consciousness,* 
when  it  came  to  him,  would  hardly  be  reinforced  by 
much  aggressive  power.  Moreover,  it  was  to  be  re- 
membered that  the  one  was  in  that  house  with  quite 
as  much  warrant  as  the  other,  unless  Kirkwood  had 
drawn  a  rash  inference  from  the  incident  of  the 


136  THE  BLACK  BAG 

ragged  sentry.  The  two  of  them  were  mutual,  if 
antagonistic,  trespassers;  neither  would  dare  bring 
about  the  arrest  of  the  other.  And  then  —  and  this 
was  not  the  least  consideration  to  influence  Kirkwood 
—  perhaps  the  fellow  would  die  if  he  got  no  atten- 
tion. 

Kirkwood  shut  his  teeth  grimly.  "  I'm  no  assas- 
sin," he  informed  himself,  "  to  strike  and  run.  If 
I've  maimed  this  poor  devil  and  there  are  conse- 
quences, I'll  stand  'em.  The  Lord  knows  it  doesn't 
matter  a  damn  to  anybody,  not  even  to  me,  what  hap- 
pens to  me ;  while  Tie  may  be  valuable." 

Light  upon  the  subject,  actual  as  well  as  figur- 
ative, seemed  to  be  the  first  essential ;  his  mind  com- 
posed, Kirkwood  set  himself  in  search  of  it.  The 
floor  he  was  on,  however,  afforded  him  no  assistance ; 
the  mantels  were  guiltless  of  candles  and  he  discov- 
ered no  matches,  either  in  the  wide  and  silent  draw- 
ing-room, with  its  ghastly  furniture,  like  mummies  in 
their  linen  swathings,  or  in  the  small  boudoir  at  the 
back.  He  was  to  look  either  above  or  below,  it 
seemed. 

After  some  momentary  hesitation,  he  went  up-stairs, 
his  ascent  marked  by  a  single  and  grateful  accident ; 
half-way  to  the  top  he  trod  on  an  object  that  clinked 
underfoot,  and,  stooping,  retrieved  the  lost  purse. 
Thus  was  he  justified  of  his  temerity;  the  day  was 
saved  —  that  is,  to-morrow  was. 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  137 

The  rooms  of  the  second-floor  were  bedchambers, 
broad,  deep,  stately,  inhabited  by  seven  devils  of  lone- 
liness. In  one,  on  a  dresser,  Kirkwood  found  a  stump 
of  candle  in  a  china  candlestick ;  the  two  charred  ends 
of  matches  at  its  base  were  only  an  irritating  dis- 
covery, however  —  evidence  that  real  matches  had  been 
the  mode  in  Number  9,  at  some  remote  date.  Dis- 
gusted and  oppressed  by  cumulative  inquisitiveness, 
he  took  the  candle-end  back  to  the  hall ;  he  would 
have  given  much  for  the  time  and  means  to  make  a 
more  detailed  investigation  into  the  secret  of  the 
house. 

Perhaps  it  was  mostly  his  hope  of  chancing  on 
some  clue  to  the  mystery  of  Dorothy  Calender  —  be- 
witching riddle  that  she  was!  —  that  fascinated  his 
imagination  so  completely.  Aside  from  her  alto- 
gether, the  great  house  that  stood  untenanted,  yet  in 
such  complete  order,  so  self-contained  in  its  dark- 
ened quiet,  intrigued  him  equally  with  the  train  of 
inexplicable  events  that  had  brought  him  within  its 
walls.  Now  —  since  his  latest  entrance  —  his  vision 
had  adjusted  itself  to  cope  with  the  obscurity 
to  some  extent;  and  the  street  lights,  meagerly  re- 
flected through  the  windows  from  the  bosom  of  a  sullen 
pall  of  cloud,  low-swung  above  the  city,  had  helped 
him  to  piece  together  many  a  detail  of  decoration  and 
furnishing,  alike  somber  and  richly  dignified.  Kirk- 
wood  told  himself  that  the  owner,  whoever  he  might 


138  THE  BLACK  BAG 

be,  was  a  man  of  wealth  and  taste  inherited  from 
another  age ;  he  had  found  little  of  meretricious  to- 
day in  the  dwelling1,  much  that  was  solid  and  sedate 
and  homely  and  —  Victorian.  .  .  .  He  could 
liave  wished  for  more ;  a  box  of  early  Victorian  vestas 
had  been  highly  acceptable. 

Making  his  way  down-stairs  to  the  stricken  man  — 
who  was  quite  as  he  had  been  —  Kirkwood  bent  over 
and  thrust  rifling  fingers  into  his  pockets,  regardless 
of  the  wretched  sense  of  guilt  and  sneakishness  im- 
parted by  the  action,  stubbornly  heedless  of  the  possi- 
bility of  the  man's  awakening  to  find  himself  being 
searched  and  robbed. 

In  the  last  place  he  sought,  which  should  (he  real- 
ized) have  been  the  first,  to  wit,  the  fob  pocket  of 
the  white  waistcoat,  he  found  a  small  gold  match- 
box, packed  tight  with  wax  vestas;  and,  berating 
himself  for  crass  stupidity  —  he  had  saved  a  deal  of 
time  and  trouble  by  thinking  of  this  before  —  lighted 
the  candle. 

As  its  golden  flame  shot  up  with  scarce  a  tremor, 
,pre}7ed  upon  by  a  perfectly  excusable  concern,  he 
bent  to  examine  the  man's  countenance.  .  .  .  The 
arm  which  had  partly  hidden  it  had  fallen  back  into 
a  natural  position.  It  was  a  young  face  that  gleamed 
pallid  in  the  candlelight  —  a  face  unlined,  a  little 
vapid  and  insignificant,  with  features  regular  and 
neat,  betraying  few  characteristics  other  than  the 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  139 

purely  negative  attributes  of  a  character  as  yet  un- 
formed, possibly  unf ormable ;  much  the  sort  of  a  face 
that  he  might  have  expected  to  see,  remembering 
those  thin  and  pouting  lips  that  before  had  impressed 
him.  Its  owner  was  probably  little  more  than  twenty. 
In  his  attire  there  was  a  suspicion  of  a  fop's  precise- 
ness,  aside  from  its  accidental  disarray ;  the  cut  of 
his  waistcoat  was  the  extreme  of  the  then  fashion, 
the  white  tie  (twisted  beneath  one  ear)  an  exaggerated 
*'  butterfly,"  his  collar  nearly  an  inch  too  tall ;  and 
he  was  shod  with  pumps  suitable  only  for  the  danc- 
ing-floor,—  a  whim  of  the  young-bloods  of  London  of 
that  year. 

"  I  can't  make  him  out  at  all ! "  declared  Kirk- 
wood.  "  The  son  of  a  gentleman  too  weak  to  be- 
lieve that  cubs  need  licking  into  shape?  Reared  to 
man's  estate,  so  sheltered  from  the  wicked  world  that 
he  never  grew  a  bark?  .  .  .  The  sort  that  never 
had  a  quarrel  in  his  life,  'cept  Math  his  tailor?  .  .  . 
Now  what  the  devil  is  this  thing  doing  in  this  mid- 
night mischief  ?  .  .  .  Damn!" 

It  was  most  exasperating,  the  incongruity  of  the 
boy's  appearance  assorted  with  his  double  role  of 
persecutor  of  distressed  damsels  and  nocturnal  house- 
breaker ! 

Kirkwood  bent  closer  above  the  motionless  head, 
with  puzzled  eyes  striving  to  pin  down  some  elusive 
resemblance  that  he  thought  to  trace  in  those  vacuous 


140  THE  BLACK  BAG 

9 

features  —  a  resemblance  to  some  one  he  had  seen,  or 
known,  at  some  past  time,  somewhere,  somehow. 

"  I  give  it  up.  Guess  I'm  mistaken.  Anyhow, 
five  young  Englishmen  out  of  every  ten  of  his  class 
are  just  as  blond  and  foolish.  Now  let's  see  how  bad 
he's  hurt." 

With  hands  strong  and  gentle,  he  turned  the 
round,  light  head.  Then,  "  Ah !  "  he  commented  in 
the  accent  of  comprehension.  For  there  was  an  angry 
looking  bump  at  the  base  of  the  skull ;  and,  the  skin 
having  been  broken,  possibly  in  collision  with  the 
sharp-edged  newel-post,  a  little  blood  had  stained 
and  matted  the  straw-colored  hair. 

Kirkwood  let  the  head  down  and  took  thought. 
Recalling  a  bath-room  on  the  floor  above,  thither  he 
went,  unselfishly  forgetful  of  his  predicament  if  dis- 
covered, and,  turning  on  the  water,  sopped  his  hand- 
kerchief until  it  dripped.  Then,  returning,  he  took 
the  boy's  head  on  his  knees,  washed  the  wound,  pur- 
loined another  handkerchief  (of  silk,  with  a  giddy 
border)  from  the  other's  pocket,  and  of  this  manu- 
factured a  rude  but  serviceable  bandage. 
,  Toward  the  conclusion  of  his  attentions,  the  suf- 
ferer began  to  show  signs  of  returning  animation. 
He  stirred  restlessly,  whimpered  a  little,  and  sighed. 
And  Kirkwood,  in  consternation,  got  up. 

"  So !  "  he  commented  ruefully.  "  I  guess  I  am  an 
ass,  all  right  —  taking  all  that  trouble  for  you,  my 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  141 

friend.  If  I've  got  a  grain  of  sense  left,  this  is  my 
cue  to  leave  you  alone  in  your  glory." 

He  was  lingering  only  to  restore  to  the  boy's  pock- 
ets such  articles  as  he  had  removed  in  the  search  for 
matches, —  the  match-box,  a  few  silver  coins,  a  bulky, 
sovereign  purse,  a  handsome,  plain  gold  watch,  and 
so  forth.  But  ere  he  concluded  he  was  aware  that 
the  boy  was  conscious,  that  his  eyes,  open  and  blink- 
ing in  the  candlelight,  were  upon  him. 

They  were  blue  eyes,  blue  and  shallow  as  a  doll's, 
and  edged  with  long,  fine  lashes.  Intelligence,  of  a 
certain  degree,  was  rapidly  informing  them.  Kirk- 
wood  returned  their  questioning  glance,  transfixed  in 
indecision,  his  primal  impulse  to  cut-and-run  for  it 
was  gone ;  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  this  child  who 
could  not  prevent  his  going  whenever  he  chose  to  go ; 
while  by  remaining  he  might  perchance  worm  from 
him  something  about  the  girl. 

"You're  feeling  better?"  He  was  almost  sur- 
prised to  hear  his  own  voice  put  the  query. 

"  I  —  I  think  so.  Ow,  my  head !  .  .  .  I  say, 
you  chap,  whoever  you  are,  what's  happened? 
.  .  .  I  want  to  get  up."  The  boy  added  peev- 
ishly :  "  Help  a  fellow,  can't  you  ?  " 

"  You've  had  a  nasty  fall,"  Kirkwood  observed 
evenly,  passing  an  arm  beneath  the  boy's  shoulder 
and  helping  him  to  a  sitting  position.  "  Do  you 
remember?  " 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

The  other  snuffled  childishly  and  scrubbed  across 
the  floor  to  rest  his  back  against  the  wall. 

"  Why-y  ...  I  remember  fallin' ;  and  then! 
I  woke  up  and  it  was  all  dark  and  my  head 
achin'  fit  to  split.  I  presume  I  went  to  sleep  again. 
I.  .  .  I  say,  what're  you  doing  here?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Kirkwood  lifted  a  warning 
finger. 

"  Hush ! "  he  said  tensely,  alarmed  by  noises  in! 
the  street.  "You  don't  suppose — ?" 

He  had  been  conscious  of  a  carriage  rolling  up  from 
the  corner,  as  well  as  that  it  had  drawn  up  (pre- 
sumably) before  a  near-by  dwelling.  Now  the  rattle 
of  a  key  in  the  hall-door  was  startlingly  audible. 
Before  he  could  move,  the  door  itself  opened  with  a 
slam. 

Kirkwood  moved  toward  the  stair-head,  and  drew 
back  with  a  cry  of  disgust.  "  Too  late !  "  he  told 
himself  bitterly  ;  his  escape  was  cut  off.  He  could  run 
up-stairs  and  hide,  of  course,  but  the  boy  would  in- 
form against  him  and 

He  buttoned  up  his  coat,  settled  his  hat  on  his 
head,  and  moved  near  the  candle,  where  it  rested  on 
the  floor.  One  glimpse  would  suffice  to  show  him 
the  force  of  the  intruders,  and  one  move  of  his  foot 
put  out  the  light;  then  —  perhaps  —  he  might  be 
able  to  rush  them. 

Below,  a  brief  pause  had  followed  the  noise  of  the 


A  RUINED  GENTLEMAN  143 

door,  as  if  those  entering  were  standing,  irresolute, 
undecided  which  way  to  turn ;  but  abruptly  enough 
the  glimmer  of  candlelight  must  have  been  noticed. 
Kirkwood  heard  a  hushed  exclamation,  a  quick  clatter 
of  high  heels  on  the  parquetry,  pattering  feet  on 
the  stairs,  all  but  drowned  by  swish  and  ripple  of 
silken  skirts;  and  a  woman  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
flight  —  to  the  American  an  apparition  profoundly 
amazing  as  she  paused,  the  light  from  the  floor  cast- 
ing odd,  theatric  shadows  beneath  her  eyes  and  over 
her  brows,  edging  her  eyes  themselves  with  brilliant 
light  beneath  their  dark  lashes,  showing  her  lips 
straight  and  drawn,  and  shimmering  upon  the  span- 
gles of  an  evening  gown,  visible  beneath  the  dark 
cloak  which  had  fallen  back  from  her  white,  beautiful 
shoulders. 


yin 

MADAME    I/INTRIGANTE 

"  Mrs.  Hallam ! "  cried  Kirkwood,  beneath  his 
breath. 

The  woman  ignored  his  existence.  Moving  swiftly 
forward,  she  dropped  on  both  knees  by  the  side  of 
the  boy,  and  caught  up  one  of  his  hands,  clasping 
it  passionately  in  her  own. 

"  Fred ! "  she  cried,  a  curious  break  in  her  tone. 
"  My  little  Freddie !  Oh,  what  has  happened, 
dearie?  " 

"  Oh,  hello,  Mamma,"  grunted  that  young  man, 
submitting  listlessly  to  her  caresses  and  betraying  no 
overwhelming  surprise  at  her  appearance  there.  In- 
deed he  seemed  more  concerned  as  to  what  Kirkwood, 
an  older  man,  would  be  thinking,  to  see  him  so  en- 
deared and  fondled,  than  moved  by  any  other  emotion. 
Kirkwood  could  see  his  shamefaced,  sidelong  glances; 
and  despised  him  properly  for  them. 

But  without  attending  to  his  response,  Mrs.  Hallam 
rattled  on  in  the  uneven  accents  of  excitement.  "  I 
waited  until  I  couldn't  wait  any  longer,  Freddie  dear. 
I  had  to  know  —  had  to  come.  Eccles  came  home 

144 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  145 

about  nine  and  said  that  you  had  told  him  to  wait 
outside,  that  some  one  had  followed  you  in  here,  and 
that  a  bobby  had  told  him  to  move  on.  I  didn't 
know  what  — " 

"  What's  o'clock  now?  "  her  son  interrupted. 

"  It's  about  three,  I  think.  .  .  .  Have  you* 
hurt  yourself,  dear?  Oh,  why  didn't  you  come  home? 
You  must  've  known  I  was  dying  of  anxiety  !  " 

"Oh,  I  say!  Can't  you  see  I'm  hurt?  'Had  a 
nasty  fall  and  must  've  been  asleep  ever  since." 

"My  precious  one!     How — ?" 

"  Can't  say,  hardly.  ...  I  say,  don't  paw  a 
chap  so,  Mamma.  ...  I  brought  Eccles  along 
and  told  him  to  wait  because  —  well,  because  I  didn't 
feel  so  much  like  shuttin'  myself  up  in  this  beastly 
old  tomb.  So  I  left  the  door  ajar,  and  told  him  not 
to  let  anybody  come  in.  Then  I  came  up-stairs. 
There  must  've  been  somebody  already  in  the  house; 
I  know  I  thought  there  was.  It  made  me  feel  creepy, 
rather.  At  any  rate,  I  heard  voices  down  below,  and 
the  door  banged,  and  somebody  began  hammerin' 
like  fun  on  the  knocker." 

The  boy  paused,  rolling  an  embarrassed  eye  up 
at  the  stranger. 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear ! "  Mrs.  Hallam  urged  him  on. 

"  Why,  I  —  I  made  up  my  mind  to  cut  my  stick 
—  let  whoever  it  was  pass  me  on  the  stairs,  you  know. 
But  he  followed  me  and  struck  me,  and  then  I  jumped 


146  THE  BLACK  BAG 

at  him,  and  we  both  fell  down  the  whole  flight.  And 
that's  all.  Besides,  my  head's  achin'  like  every- 
thing." 

"But  this  man—?" 

Mrs.  Hallam  looked  up  at  Kirkwood,  who  bowed 
silently,  struggling  to  hide  both  his  amusement  and 
perplexity.  More  than  ever,  now,  the  case  presented 
a  front  inscrutable  to  his  wits ;  try  as  he  might,  he 
failed  to  fit  an  explanation  to  any  incident  in  which 
he  had  figured,  while  this  last  development  —  that  his 
antagonist  of  the  dark  stairway  had  been  Mrs.  Hal- 
lam's  son !  —  seemed  the  most  astounding  of  all,  baf- 
fling elucidation  completely. 

He  had  abandoned  all  thought  of  flight  and  es- 
cape. It  was  too  late;  in  the  brisk  idiom  of  his 
mother-tongue,  he  was  "  caught  with  the  goods  on." 
"  May  as  well  face  the  music,"  he  counseled  himself, 
in  resignation.  From  what  he  had  seen  and  surmised 
of  Mrs.  Hallam,  he  shrewdly  suspected  that  the  tune 
would  prove  an  exceedingly  lively  one ;  she  seemed  a 
woman  of  imagination,  originality,  and  an  able-bodied 
temper. 

"  You,  Mr.  Kirkwood !  " 

Again  he  bowed,  grinning  awry. 

She  rose  suddenly.  "  You  will  be  good  enough 
to  explain  your  presence  here,"  she  informed  him  with 
dangerous  serenity. 

"  To  be  frank  with  you  — " 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  147 

"  I  advise  that  course,  Mr.  Kirkwood." 

"  Thanks,  awf'ly.  ...  I  came  here,  half  an 
hour  ago,  looking  for  a  lost  purse  full  —  well,  not 
quite  full  of  sovereigns.  It  was  my  purse,  by  the 
way." 

Suspicion  glinted  like  foxfire  in  the  cold  green 
eyes  beneath  her  puckered  brows.  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand," she  said  slowly  and  in  level  tones. 

"  I  didn't  expect  you  to,"  returned  Kirkwood ;  "  no 
more  do  I.  .  .  .  But,  anyway,  it  must  be  clear 
to  you  that  I've  done  my  best  for  this  gentleman 
here."  He  paused  with  an  interrogative  lift  of  his 
eyebrows. 

"  '  This  gentleman  '  is  my  son,  Frederick  Hallam. 
But  you  will  explain  — " 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Hallam ;  I  shall  explain  noth- 
ing, at  present.  Permit  me  to  point  out  that  your 
position  here  —  like  mine  —  is,  to  say  the  least, 
anomalous."  The  random  stroke  told,  as  he  could 
tell  by  the  instant  contraction  of  her  eyes  of  a  cat. 
"  It  would  be  best  to  defer  explanations  till  a  more 
convenient  time  —  don't  you  think  ?  Then,  if  you 
like,  we  can  chant  confidences  in  an  antiphonal  chorus. 
Just  now  your  —  er  —  son  is  not  enjoying  himself 
apparently,  and  .  .  .  the  attention  of  the  police 
had  best  not  be  called  to  this  house  too  often  in  one 
night." 

His   levity   seemed   to  displease   and   perturb   the 


148  THE  BLACK  BAG 

woman ;  she  turned  from  him  with  an  impatient  move- 
ment of  her  shoulders. 

"  Freddie,  dear,  do  you  feel  able  to  walk?  " 

"Eh?  Oh,  I  dare  say.  —  I  don't  know.  Won- 
der would  your  friend  —  ah  —  Mr.  Kirkwood,  lend 
me  an  arm?  " 

"  Charmed,"  Kirkwood  declared  suavely.  "  If 
you'll  take  the  candle,  Mrs.  Hallam — " 

He  helped  the  boy  to  his  feet  and,  while  the  latter 
hung  upon  him  and  complained  querulously,  stood 
waiting  for  the  woman  to  lead  the  way  with  the  light ; 
something  which,  however,  she  seemed  in  no  haste  to 
do.  The  pause  at  length  puzzled  Kirkwood,  and  he 
turned,  to  find  Mrs.  Hallam  holding  the  candlestick 
and  regarding  him  steadily,  with  much  the  same  ex- 
pression of  furtive  mistrust  as  that  with  which  she 
had  favored  him  on  her  own,  door-stoop. 

"  One  moment,"  she  interposed  in  confusion ;  "  I 
won't  keep  you  waiting  ...  ;"  and,  passing 
with  an  averted  face,  ran  quickly  up-stairs  to  the  sec- 
ond floor,  taking  the  light  with  her.  Its  glow  faded 
from  the  walls  above  and  Kirkwood  surmised  that  she 
had  entered  the  front  bedchamber.  For  some  mo- 
ments he  could  hear  her  moving  about;  once,  some- 
thing scraped  and  bumped  on  the  floor,  as  if  a  heavy 
bit  of  furniture  had  been  moved ;  again  there  was  a 
resounding  thud  that  defied  speculation ;  and  this  was 
presently  followed  by  a  dull  clang  of  metal. 


He  helped  the  boy  to  his  feet,  0nd  stood  waiting.     Page  148 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  149 

His  fugitive  speculations  afforded  him  little  -en- 
lightenment ;  and,  meantime,  young  Hallam,  leaning 
partly  against  the  wall  and  quite  heavily  on  Kirk- 
wood's  arm,  filled  his  ears  with  puerile  oaths  and  la- 
mentations; so  that,  but  for  the  excuse  of  his  really 
severe  shaking-up,  Kirkwood  had  been  strongly 
tempted  to  take  the  youngster  by  the  shoulders  and 
kick  him  heartily,  for  the  health  of  his  soul. 

But  eventually  —  it  was  not  really  long  —  there 
came  the  quick  rush  of  Mrs.  Hallam's  feet  along  the 
upper  hall,  and  the  woman  reappeared,  one  hand  hold- 
ing her  skirts  clear  of  her  pretty  feet  as  she  de- 
scended in  a  rush  that  caused  the  candle's  flame  to 
flicker  perilously. 

Half-way  down,  "  Mr.  Kirkwood ! "  she  called  tem- 
pestuously. 

"  Didn't  you  find  it?  "  he  countered  blandly. 

She  stopped  jerkily  at  the  bottom,  and,  after  a 
moment  of  confusion.  "  Find  what,  sir?  "  she  asked. 

"  What  you  sought,  Mrs.  Hallam." 

Smiling,  he  bore  unflinching  the  prolonged  in- 
spection of  her  eyes,  at  once  somber  with  doubt  of 
him  and  flashing  with  indignation  because  of  his  im- 
pudence. 

"  You  knew  I  wouldn't  find  it,  then !  .  .  . 
Didn't  you?" 

"  I  may  have  suspected  you  wouldn't." 

Now  he  was  sure  that  she  had  been  searching  for 


150  THE  BLACK  BAG 

the  gladstone  bag.     That,  evidently,  was  the  bone  of 

contention.      Calendar  had  sent  his  daughter  for  it, 

Mrs.  Hallam  her  son;  Dorothy  had  been  successful. 

.     .     But,  on  the  other  hand,  Calendar  and  Mrs. 

/Hallam  were  unquestionably  allies.     Why,  then  — ? 

"  Where  is  it,  Mr.  Kirkwood?  " 

"  Madam,  have  you  the  right  to  know  ?  " 

Through  another  lengthening  pause,  while  they 
faced  each  other,  he  marked  again  the  curious  con- 
traction of  her  under  lip. 

"  I  have  the  right,"  she  declared  steadily. 
"Where  is  it?" 

"  How  can  I  be  sure?  " 

"  Then  you  don't  know  — !  " 

"  Indeed,"  he  interrupted,  "  I  would  be  glad  to 
feel  that  I  ought  to  tell  you  what  I  know." 

"  What  you  know  !  " 

The  exclamation,  low-spoken,  more  an  echo  of  her 
thoughts  than  intended  for  Kirkwood,  was  accom- 
panied by  a  little  shake  of  the  woman's  head,  mute 
evidence  to  the  fact  that  she  was  bewildered  by  his 
finesse.  And  this  delighted  the  young  man  beyond 
measure,  making  him  feel  himself  master  of  a  difficult 
situation.  Mysteries  had  been  woven  before  his  eyes 
so  persistently,  of  late,  that  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to 
be  able  to  do  a  little  mystifying  on  his  own  account. 
By  adopting  this  reticent  and  non-committal  attitude, 
he  was  forcing  the  hand  of  a  woman  old  enough  to 


be 

th. 


151 

^stress  in 
ikT     fas- 


tl 

h£ 

at 

fc 

a  i 

dri 

blq. 

\ 
at 

stan\ 


150 


THE  BLACK  BAG 


the  gladstone  bag 
contention.      Cale 
Mrs.  Hallam 
.     .     But 
iHallam  wer 

"  Where 

"  Mad 

Throug 
faced  each 
traction  o 

"I     ha 
"  Where  is 

"  How  c 

"  Then 

"  Indeed 
feel  that  I 

"  What 

The  excl 
thoughts 
panied  by 
evidence  to 
finesse.     An 
measure, 
situation, 
so  persisten 
be  able  to  d 
By  adoptin 
he  was  forci 


MADAME  L'lNTRIGANTE  151 

be  his  mother  and  most  evidently  a  past-mistress  in 
the  art  of  misleading.  All  of  which  seemed  very  fas- 
cinating to  the  amateur  in  adventure. 

The  woman  would  have  led  again,  but  young  Hal- 
lam  cut  in,  none  too  courteously. 

"  I  say,  Mamma,  it's  no  good  standing  here,  pala-> 
verin'  like  a  lot  of  flats.  Besides,  I'm  awf 'ly  knocked 
up.  Let's  get  home  and  have  it  out  there." 

Instantly  his  mother  softened.  "  My  poor  boy ! 
.  .  .  Of  course  we'll  go." 

Without  further  demur  she  swept  past  and  down 
the  stairway  before  them  —  slowly,  for  their  progress 
was  of  necessity  slow,  and  the  light  most  needed. 
Once  they  were  in  the  main  hall,  however,  she  ex- 
tinguished the  candle,  placed  it  on  a  side  table,  and 
passed  out  through  the  door. 

It  had  been  left  open,  as  before;  and  Kirkwood 
was  not  at  all  surprised  to  see  a  man  waiting  on  the 
threshold, —  the  versatile  Eccles,  if  he  erred  not.  He 
had  little  chance  to  identify  him,  as  it  happened,  for 
at  a  word  from  Mrs.  Hallam  the  man  bowed  and, 
following  her  across  the  sidewalk,  opened  the  door  of 
a  four-wheeler  which,  with  lamps  alight  and  liveried 
driver  on  the  box,  had  been  waiting  at  the  carriage- 
block. 

As  they  passed  out,  Kirkwood  shut  the  door;  and 
at  the  same  moment  the  little  party  was  brought  up 
standing  by  a  gruff  and  authoritative  summons. 


152  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Just  a  minute,  please,  you  there ! " 

"  Aha !  "  said  Kirkwood  to  himself.  "  I  thought 
so."  And  he  halted,  in  unfeigned  respect  for  the 
burly  and  impressive  figure,  garbed  in  blue  and  brass, 
helmeted  and  truncheoned,  bull's-eye  shining  on  breast 
like  the  Law's  unblinking  and  sleepless  eye,  barring 
the  way  to  the  carriage. 

Mrs.  Hallam  showed  less  deference  for  the  ob- 
structionist. The  assumed  hauteur  and  impatience  of 
her  pose  was  artfully  reflected  in  her  voice  as  she 
rounded  upon  the  bobby,  with  an  indignant  demand: 
"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  officer?  " 

"  Precisely  what  I  wants  to  know,  ma'am,"  returned 
the  man,  unyielding  beneath  his  respectful  attitude. 
"  I'm  obliged  to  ask  you  to  tell  me  what  you  were 
doing  in  that  Hiuse.  .  .  .  And  what's  the  mat- 
ter with  this  'ere  gentleman  ?  "  he  added,  with  a  du- 
bious stare  at  young  Hallam's  bandaged  head  and 
rumpled  clothing. 

"  Perhaps  you  don't  understand,"  admitted  Mrs. 
Hallam  sweetly.  "  Of  course  —  I  see  —  it's  per- 
fectly natural.  The  house  has  been  shut  up  for  some 
time  and  — " 

"Thank  you,  ma'am;  that's  just  it.  There  was 
something  wrong  going  on  early  in  the  evening,  and 
I  was  told  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  premises.  It's  duty, 
ma'am ;  I've  got  my  report  to  make." 

"  The  house,"  said  Mrs.  Hallam,  with  the  long- 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  153 

suffering  patience  of  one  elucidating  a  perfectly 
plain  proposition  to  a  being  of  a  lower  order  of  in- 
telligence, "  is  the  property  of  my  son,  Arthur  Fred- 
erick Burgoyne  Hallam,  of  Cornwall.  This  is  — " 
"  Beg  pardon,  ma'am,  but  I  was  told  Colonel  George 
Burgoyne,  of  Cornwall — : 

"  Colonel  Burgoyne  died  some  time  ago.  My  son 
is  his  heir.  This  is  my  son.  He  came  to  the  house 
this  evening  to  get  some  property  he  desired,  and  — 
it  seems  —  tripped  on  the  stairs  and  fell  unconscious. 
I  became  worried  about  him  and  drove  over,  accom- 
panied by  my  friend,  Mr.  Kirkwood." 

The  policeman  looked  his  troubled  state  of  mind, 
and  wagged  a  doubtful  head  over  the  case.  There 
was  his  duty,  and  there  was,  opposed  to  it,  the  fact 
that  all  three  were  garbed  in  the  livery  of  the  well- 
to-do. 

At  length,  turning  to  the  driver,  he  demanded,  re- 
ceived, and  noted  in  his  memorandum-book,  the  license 
number  of  the  equipage. 

"  It's  a  very  unusual  case,  ma'am,"  he  apologized ; 
"  I  hopes  you  won't  'old  it  against  me.  I'm  only 
trying  to  do  my  duty  — " 

"  And  safeguard  our  property.  You  are  perfectly 
justified,  officer." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am.  And  would  you  mind  giving 
me  your  cards,  please,  all  of  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not."     Without  hesitation  the  woman 


154  THE  BLACK  BAG 

took  a  little  hand-bag  from  the  seat  of  the  carriage 
and  produced  a  card;  her  son  likewise  found  his  case 
and  handed  the  officer  an  oblong  slip. 

"  I've  no  cards  with  me,"  the  American  told  the 
policeman ;  "  my  name,  however,  is  Philip  Kirkwood, 
and  I'm  staying  at  the  Pless." 

"  Very  good,  sir ;  thank  you."  The  man  penciled 
the  information  in  his  little  book.  "  Thank  you, 
ma'am,  and  Mr.  Hallam,  sir.  Sorry  to  have  detained 
you.  Good  morning." 

Kirkwood  helped  young  Hallam  into  the  carriage, 
gave  Mrs.  Hallam  his  hand,  and  followed  her.  The 
man  Eccles  shut  the  door,  mounting  the  box  beside 
the  driver.  Immediately  they  were  in  motion. 

The  American  got  a  final  glimpse  of  the  bobby, 
standing  in  front  of  Number  9,  Frognall  Street,  and 
watching  them  with  an  air  of  profound  uncertainty. 
He  had  Kirkwood's  sympathy,  therein ;  but  he  had 
little  time  to  feel  with  him,  for  Mrs.  Hallam  turned 
upon  him  very  suddenly. 

"  Mr.  Kirkwood,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell 
me  who  and  what  you  are?  " 

The  young  man  smiled  his  homely,  candid  smile. 
"  I'll  be  only  too  glad!,  Mrs.  Hallam,  when  I  feel  sure 
you'll  do  as  much  for  yourself." 

She  gave  him  no  answer;  it  was  as  if  she  were 
choosing  words.  Kirkwood  braced  himself  to  meet 
the  storm;  but  none  ensued.  There  was  rather  a 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  155 

lull,  which  strung  itself  out  indefinitely,  to  the  mo- 
notonous music  of  hoofs  and  rubber  tires. 

Young  Hallam  was  resting  his  empty  blond  head 
against  the  cushions,  and  had  closed  his  eyes.  He 
seemed  to  doze;  but,  as  the  carriage  rolled  past  the 
frequent  street-lights,  Kirkwood  could  see  that  the 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Hallam  were  steadily  directed  to  his 
face. 

His  outward  composure  was  tempered  by  some 
amusement,  by  more  admiration ;  the  woman's  eyes 
were  very  handsome,  even  when  hardest  and  most 
cold.  It  was  not  easy  to  conceive  of  her  as  being 
the  mother  of  a  son  so  immaturely  mature.  Why,  she 
must  have  been  at  least  thirty-eight  or  -nine!  One 
wondered;  she  did  not  look  it.  ... 

The  carriage  stopped  before  a  house  with  lighted 
windows.  Eccles  jumped  down  from  the  box  and 
scurried  to  open  the  front  door.  The  radiance  of  a 
hall-lamp  was  streaming  out  into  the  misty  night 
when  he  returned  to  release  his  employers. 

They  were  returned  to  Craven  Street !  "  One  more 
lap  round  the  track !  "  mused  Kirkwood.  "  Wonder 
will  the  next  take  me  back  to  Bermondsey  Old 
Stairs." 

At  Mrs.  Hallam's  direction,  Eccles  ushered  him 
into  the  smoking-room,  on  the  ground  floor  in  the  rear 
of  the  dwelling,  there  to  wait  while  she  helped  her 
son  np-stairs  and  to  bed.  He  sighed  with  pleasure 


156  THE  BLACK  BAG 

at  first  glimpse  of  its  luxurious  but  informal  com- 
forts, and  threw  himself  carelessly  into  a  heavily 
padded  lounging-chair,  dropping  one  knee  over  the 
other  and  lighting  the  last  of  his  expensive  cigars, 
with  a  sensation  of  undiluted  gratitude;  as  one  com- 
ing to  rest  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary 
land. 

Over  his  shoulder  a  home-like  illumination  was  cast 
by  an  electric  reading-lamp  shaded  with  red  silk.  At 
his  feet  brass  fire-dogs  winked  sleepily  in  the  flutter- 
ing blaze  of  a  well-tended  stove.  The  walls  were 
hung  with  deep  red,  the  doors  and  divans  upholstered 
in  the  same  restful  shade.  In  one  corner  an  old  clock 
ticked  soberly.  The  atmosphere  would  have  proved 
a  potent  invitation  to  reverie,  if  not  to  sleep  —  he 
was  very  sleepy  —  but  for  the  confusion  in  the  house. 

In  its  chambers,  through  the  halls,  on  the  stairs, 
there  were  hurryings  and  scurryings  of  feet  and 
skirts,  confused  with  murmuring  voices.  Presently, 
in  an  adjoining  room,  Philip  Kirkwood  heard  a 
maid-servant  wrestling  hopefully  with  that  most  ex- 
asperating of  modern  time-saving  devices,  the  tele- 
phone as  countenanced  by  our  English  cousins.  Her 
patience  and  determination  won  his  approval,  but 
availed  nothing  for  her  purpose;  in  the  outcome  the 
telephone  triumphed  and  the  maid  gave  up  the  un- 
equal contest. 

Later,  a  butler  entered  the  room ;  a  short  and  sturdy 


MADAME  L'lNTRIGANTE  157 

fellow,  extremely  ill  at  ease.  Drawing  a  small  ta- 
boret  to  the  side  of  Kirkwood's  chair,  he  placed  there- 
on a  tray,  deferentially  imparting  the  information 
that  "  Missis  'Allam  'ad  thought  'ow  as  Mister  Kirk- 
wood  might  care  for  a  bit  of  supper." 

"  Please  thank  Mrs.  Hallam  for  me."  Kirkwood's 
gratified  eyes  ranged  the  laden  tray.  There  were 
sandwiches,  biscuit,  cheese,  and  a  pot  of  black  coffee, 
with  sugar  and  cream.  "  It  was  very  kindlj  thought 
of,"  he  added. 

"  Very  good  sir,  thank  you,  sir." 

The  man  turned  to  go,  shuffling  soundlessly. 
Kirkwood  was  suddenly  impressed  with  his  evasive- 
ness ;  ever  since  he  had  entered  the  room,  his  counte- 
nance had  seemed  turned  from  the  guest. 

"  Eccles !  "  he  called  sharply,  at  a  venture. 

The  butler  halted,  thunderstruck.     "  Ye-es,  s-sir?  " 

"  Turn  round,  Eccles ;  I  want  a  look  at  you." 

Eccles  faced  him  unwillingly,  with  a  stolid  front 
but  shifty  eyes.  Kirkwood  glanced  him  up  and 
clown,  grinning. 

"  Thank  you,  Eccles ;  I'll  remember  you  now. 
You'll  remember  me,  too,  won't  you?  You're  a  bad 
actor,  aren't  you,  Eccles?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  thank  you,  sir,"  mumbled  the  man  un- 
happily ;  and  took  instant  advantage  of  the  implied 
permission  to  go. 

Intensely   diverted  by  the  recollection   of  Eccles' 


158  THE  BLACK  BAG 

abortive  attempt  to  stop  him  at  the  door  of  Number1 
9,  and  wondering  —  now  that  he  came  to  think  of  it 
• —  why,  precisely,  young  Hallam  had  deemed  it  neces- 
sary to  travel  with  a  body-guard  and  adopt  such 
furtive  methods  to  enter  into  as  well  as  to  obtain  what 
was  asserted  to  be  his  own  property,  Kirkwood  turned 
active  attention  to  the  lunch. 

Thoughtfully  he  poured  himself  a  cup  of  coffee, 
swallowing  it  hot  and  black  as  it  came  from  the  silver 
pot;  then  munched  the  sandwiches. 

It  was  kindly  thought  of,  this  early  morning  re- 
past; Mrs.  Hallam  seemed  more  and  more  a  remark- 
able woman  with  each  phase  of  her  character  that 
she  chose  to  disclose.  At  odds  with  him,  she  yet 
took  time  to  think  of  his  creature  needs ! 

What  could  be  her  motive, —  not  in  feeding  him, 
but  in  involving  her  name  and  fortune  in  an  affair 
so  strangely  flavored?  .  .  .  This  opened  up  a 
idesert  waste  of  barren  speculation.  "  What's  any- 
body's motive,  who  figures  in  this  thundering 
dime-novel?"  demanded  the  American,  almost  con- 
temptuously. And  —  for  the  hundredth  time  — 
gave  it  up ;  the  day  should  declare  it,  if  so  hap  he 
lived  to  see  that  day :  a  distant  one,  he  made  no  doubt. 
The  only  clear  fact  in  his  befogged  and  bemused 
mentality  was  that  he  was  at  once  "  broke  "  and  in 
this  business  up  to  his  ears.  Well,  he'd  see  it  through ; 
j  he'd  nothing  better  to  do,  and  —  there  was  the  girl : 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  159 

Dorothy,  whose  eyes  and  lips  he  had  but  to  close 
his  own  eyes  to  see  again  as  vividly  as  though  she 
stood  before  him;  Dorothy,  whose  unspoiled  sweet- 
ness stood  out  in  vivid  relief  against  this  moil  and 
toil  of  conspiracy,  like  a  star  of  evening  shining  clear 
in  a  stormy  sky. 

"  Poetic  simile :  I'm  going  fast,"  conceded 
Kirkwood;  but  he  did  not  smile.  It  was  becoming 
quite  too  serious  a  matter  for  laughter.  For  her 
sake,  he  was  in  the  game  "  for  keeps  " ;  especially  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  everything  —  his  own  heart's 
inclination  included  —  seemed  to  conspire  to  keep  him 
in  it.  Of  course  he  hoped  for  nothing  in  return ;  a 
pauper  who  turns  squire-of-dames  with  matrimonial 
intent  is  open  to  the  designation,  "  penniless  adven- 
turer." No ;  whatever  service  he  might  be  to  the  girl 
would  be  ample  recompense  to  him  for  his  labors. 
'And  afterwards,  he'd  go  his  way  in  peace ;  she'd  soon 
forget  him  —  if  she  hadn't  already.  Women  (he 
propounded  gravely)  are  queer:  there's  no  telling 
anything  about  them  1  • 

One  of  the  most  unreadable  specimens  of  the  sex 
on  which  he  pronounced  this  highly  original  dictum, 
entered  the  room  just  then;  and  he  found  himself 
at  once  out  of  his  chair  and  his  dream,  bowing. 

"  Mrs.  Hallam." 

The  woman  nodded  and  smiled  graciously.  "  Ec- 
cles  has  attended  to  your  needs,  I  hope?  Please  don't 


160  THE  BLACK  BAG 

stop  smoking."  She  sank  into  an  arm-chair  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hearth  and,  probably  by  accident, 
out  of  the  radius  of  illumination  from  the  lamp ;  sit- 
ting1 sidewise,  one  knee  above  the  other,  her  white 
arms  immaculate  against  the  somber  background  of, 
shadowed  crimson. 

She  was  very  handsome  indeed,  just  then;  though 
a  keener  light  might  have  proved  less  flattering. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Kirkwood  ?  "  she  opened  briskly,  with 
a  second  intimate  and  friendly  nod;  and  paused,  her 
pose  receptive. 

Kirkwood  sat  down  again,  smiling  good-natured 
appreciation  of  her  unprejudiced  attitude. 

"  Your  son,  Mrs.  Hallarn—  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Freddie's  doing  well  enough.  .  .  .  Fred- 
die," she  explained,  "  has  a  delicate  constitution  and 
has  seen  little  of  the  world.  Such  melodrama  as  to- 
night's is  apt  to  shock  him  severely.  We  must  make 
allowances,  Mr.  Kirkwood." 

Kirkwood  grinned  again,  a  trace  unsympathet- 
ically ;  he  was  unable  to  simulate  any  enthusiasm  on 
the  subject  of  poor  Freddie,  whom  he  had  sized  up 
with  passable  acumen  as  a  spoiled  and  coddled  child 
completely  under  the  thumb  of  an  extremely  clever 
mother. 

"  Yes,"  he  responded  vaguely ;  "  he'll  be  quite  fit 
after  a  night's  sleep,  I  dare  sa}^." 

The  woman  was  watching  him  keenly  beneath  her 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  161 

lowered  lashes.  "  I  think,"  she  said  deliberately, 
"  that  it  is  time  we  came  to  an  understanding." 

Kirkwood  agreed  — "  Yes  ?  "  affably. 

"  I  purpose  being  perfectly  straightforward.  To 
begin  with,  I  don't  place  you,  Mr.  Kirkwood.  You, 
are  an  unknown  quantity,  a  new  factor.  Won't  you 
please  tell  me  what  you  are  and  .  .  .  Are  you 
a  friend  of  Mr.  Calendar's?" 

"  I  think  I  may  lay  claim  to  that  honor,  though  " 
• —  to  Kirkwood's  way  of  seeing  things  some  little 
frankness  on  his  own  part  would  be  essential  if  they 
were  to  get  on  — "  I  hardly  know  him,  Mrs.  Hallam. 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  only  this  after- 
noon." 

She  knitted  her  brows  over  this  statement. 

"  That,  I  assure  you,  is  the  truth,"  he  laughed. 

"  But     ...     I  really  don't  understand." 

"  Nor  I,  Mrs.  Hallam.  Calendar  aside,  I  am  Philip 
Kirkwood,  American,  resident  abroad  for  some  years, 
a  native  of  San  Francisco,  of  a  certain  age,  unmar- 
ried, by  profession  a  poor  painter." 

"And—?" 

"  Beyond  that?  I  presume  I  must  tell  you,  though 
I  confess  I'm  in  doubt.  .  .  ."  He  hesitated, 
weighing  candor  in  the  balance  with  discretion. 

"  But  who  are  you  for?  Are  you  in  George  Cal- 
endar's pay?  " 

"  Heaven  f orf end !  " —  piously.     "  My  sole  interest 


162  THE  BLACK  BAG 

at  the  present  moment  is  to  unravel  a  most  entranc- 
ing mystery  — " 

"  Entitled  « Dorothy  Calendar ' !  Of  course. 
You've  known  her  long?  " 

"  Eight  hours,  I  believe,"  he  admitted  gravely ; 
("  less  than  that,  in  fact." 

"  Miss  Calendar's  interests  will  not  suffer  through, 
anything  you  may  tell  me." 

"  Whether  they  will  or  no,  I  see  I  must  swing  a 
looser  tongue,  or  you'll  be  showing  me  the  door." 

The  woman  shook  her  head,  amused.  "  Not  until," 
she  told  him  significantly. 

"  Very  well,  then."  And  he  launched  into  an 
abridged  narrative  of  the  night's  events,  as  he  under- 
stood them,  touching  lightly  on  his  own  circumstances, 
the  real  poverty  which  had  brought  him  back  to 
Craven  Street  by  way  of  Frognall.  "  And  there  you 
have  it  all,  Mrs.  Hallam." 

She  sat  in  silent  musing.  Now  and  again  he 
caught  the  glint  of  her  eyes  and  knew  that  he  was 
being  appraised  with  such  trained  acumen  as  only 
long  knowledge  of  men  can  give  to  women.  He 
wondered  if  he  were  found  wanting.  .  .  .  Her 
Bark  head  bended,  elbow  on  knee,  chin  resting  lightly 
in  the  cradle  of  her  slender,  parted  fingers,  the 
woman  thought  profoundly,  her  reverie  ending  with 
a  brief,  curt  laugh,  musical  and  mirthless  as  the 
sound  of  breaking  glass. 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  163 

"  It  is  so  like  Calendar !  "  she  exclaimed :  "  so  like 
him  that  one  sees  how  foolish  it  was  to  trust  —  no,  not 
to  trust,  but  to  believe  that  he  could  ever  be  thrown: 
off  the  scent,  once  he  got  nose  to  ground.  So,  if  we\ 
suffer,  my  son  and  I,  I  shall  have  only  myself  to/ 
thank ! " 

Kirkwood  waited  in  patient  attention  till  she  chose 
to  continue.  When  she  did  "  Now  for  my  side  of  the 
case !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hallam ;  and  rising,  began  to  pace 
the  room,  her  slender  and  rounded  figure  swaying 
gracefully,  the  while  she  talked. 

"  George  Calendar  is  a  scoundrel,"  she  said :  "  a 
swindler,  gambler, —  what  I  believe  you  Americans 
call  a  confidence-man.  He  is  also  my  late  husband's 
first  cousin.  Some  years  since  he  found  it  convenient 
to  leave  England,  likewise  his  wife  and  daughter. 
Mrs.  Calendar,  a  country-woman  of  yours,  by  the 
bye,  died  shortly  afterwards.  Dorothy,  by  the  merest 
accident,  obtained  a  situation  as  private  secretary  in 
the  household  of  the  late  Colonel  Burgoyne,  of  The 
Cliffs,  Cornwall.  You  follow  me?  " 

"  Yes,  perfectly." 

"  Colonel  Burgoyne  died,  leaving  his  estates  to  my, 
son,  some  time  ago.  Shortly  afterwards  Dorothy 
Calendar  disappeared.  We  know  now  that  her  father 
took  her  away,  but  then  the  disappearance  seemed 
inexplicable,  especially  since  with  her  vanished  a  great 
deal  of  valuable  information.  She  alone  knew  of  the 


164  THE  BLACK  BAG 

location  of  certain  of  the  old  colonel's  personal  ef- 
fects. 

"  He  was  an  eccentric.  One  of  his  peculiarities 
involved  the  secreting  of  valuables  in  odd  places ;  he 
had  no  faith  in  banks.  Among  these  valuables  were 
the  Burgoyne  family  jewels  —  quite  a  treasure,  be- 
lieve me,  Mr.  Kirkwood.  We  found  no  note  of  them 
among  the  colonel's  papers,  and  without  Dorothy 
were  powerless  to  pursue  a  search  for  them.  We 
advertised  and  employed  detectives,  with  no  result. 
It  seems  that  father  and  daughter  were  at  Monte 
Carlo  at  the  time." 

"  Beautifully  circumstantial,  my  dear  lady,"  com- 
mented Kirkwood  —  to  his  inner  consciousness.  Out- 
wardly he  maintained  consistently  a  pose  of  impassive 
gullibility. 

"  This  afternoon,  for  the  first  time,  we  received 
news  of  the  Calendars.  Calendar  himself  called  upon 
me,  to  beg  a  loan.  I  explained  our  difficulty  and  he 
promised  that  Dorothy  should  send  us  the  informa- 
jtion  by  the  morning's  post.  When  I  insisted,  he 
agreed  to  bring  it  himself,  after  dinner,  this  even- 
ing. ...  I  make  it  quite  clear? "  she  inter- 
rupted, a  little  anxious. 

"  Quite  clear,  I  assure  you,"  he  assented  encourag- 
ingly. 

"  Strangely  enough,  he  had  not  been  gone  ten  min- 
utes when  my  son  came  in  from  a  conference  with 


MADAME  L'lNTRIGANTE  165 

our  solicitors,  informing  me  that  at  last  a  memo- 
randum had  turned  up,  indicating  that  the  heirlooms 
would  be  found  in  a  safe  secreted  behind  a  dresser 
in  Colonel  Burgoyne's  bedroom." 

"  At  Number  9,  Frognall  Street." 

"  Yes.  ...  I  proposed  going  there  at  once, 
but  it  was  late  and  we  were  dining  at  the  Pless  with 
an  acquaintance,  a  Mr.  Mulready,  whom  I  now  recall 
as  a  former  intimate  of  George  Calendar.  To  our 
surprise  we  saw  Calendar  and  his  daughter  at  a  table 
not  far  from  ours.  Mr.  Mulready  betrayed  some  agi- 
tation at  the  sight  of  Calendar,  and  told  me  that 
Scotland  Yard  had  a  man  out  with  a  warrant  for 
Calendar's  arrest,  on  old  charges.  For  old  sake's 
sake,  Mr.  Mulready  begged  me  to  give  Calendar  a 
word  of  warning.  I  did  so  —  foolishly,  it  seems :  Cal- 
endar was  at  that  moment  planning  to  rob  us,  Mul- 
ready aiding  and  abetting  him." 

The  woman  paused  before  Kirkwood,  looking  down 
upon  him.  "  And  so,"  she  concluded,  "  we  have  been 
tricked  and  swindled.  I  can  scarcely  believe  it  of 
Dorothy  Calendar." 

"  I,  for  one,  don't  believe  it."  Kirkwood  spoke 
quietly,  rising.  "  Whatever  the  culpability  of  Cal- 
endar and  Mulready,  Dorothy  was  only  their  hood- 
winked tool." 

"  But,  Mr.  Kirkwood,  she  must  have  known  the 
jewels  were  not  hers." 


i!66  THE  BLACK  BAG 

L 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  passively,  but  wholly  uncon- 

yinced. 

"  And  what,"  she  demanded  with  a  gesture  of  ex- 
lasperation,  "  what  would  you  advise  ?  " 
/     "  Scotland  Yard,"  he  told  her  bluntly. 

"  But  it's  a  family  secret !  It  must  not  appear  in 
the  papers.  Don't  you  understand  —  George  Cal- 
endar is  my  husband's  cousin !  " 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  else,  unless  you  pursue 
them  in  person." 

"But  — whither?" 

"  That  remains  to  be  discovered ;  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  more  than  I  have.  .  .  .  May  I  thank 
you  for  your  hospitality,  express  my  regrets  that  I 
should  unwittingly  have  been  made  the  agent  of  this 
disaster,  and  wish  you  good  night  —  or,  rather,  good 
morning,  Mrs.  Hallam  ?  " 

For  a  moment  she  held  him  under  a  calculating 
glance  which  he  withstood  with  graceless  fortitude. 
Then,  realizing  that  he  was  determined  not  by  any 
Tiieans  to  be  won  to  her  cause,  she  gave  him  her  hand% 
;with  a  commonplace  wish  that  he  might  find  his  af- 
fairs in  better  order  than  seemed  probable ;  and  rang 
for  Eccles. 

The  butler  showed  him  out. 

He  took  away  with  him  two  strong  impressions ;  the 
one  visual,  of  a  strikingly  handsome  woman  in  a  won- 
'derful  gown,  standing  under  the  red  glow  of  a 


MADAME  L'INTRIGANTE  167 

reading-lamp,  in  an  attitude  of  intense  mental  con- 
centration, her  expression  plainly  indicative  of  a  train 
of  thought  not  guiltless  of  vindictiveness ;  the  other, 
more  mental  but  as  real,  he  presently  voiced  to  the 
huge  bronze  lions  brooding  over  desolate  Trafalgar 
Square. 

"  Well,"  appreciated  Mr.  Kirkwood  with  gusto, 
"  she's  got  Ananias  and  Sapphira  talked  to  a  stand- 
still, all  right ! "  He  ruminated  over  this  for  a  mo- 
ment. "  Calendar  can  lie  some,  too ;  but  hardly  with 
her  picturesque  touch.  .  .  .  Uncommon  in- 
genious, /  call  it.  All  the  same,  there  were  only  about 
a  dozen  bits  of  tiling  that  didn't  fit  into  her  mosaic 
a  little  bit.  ...  I  think  they're  all  tarred  with 
the  same  stick  —  all  but  the  girl.  And  there's  some- 
thing afoot  a  long  sight  more  devilish  and  crafty  than 
that  shilling-shocker  of  madam's.  .  .  .  Dorothy 
Calendar's  got  about  as  much  active  part  in  it  as  I 
have.  I'm  only  from  California,  but  they've  got  to 
show  me,  before  I'll  believe  a  word  against  her. 
Those  infernal  scoundrels !  .  .  . 
Somebody's  got  to  be  on  the  girl's  side  and  I  seem 
to  have  drawn  the  lucky  straw.  .  .  .  Good 
Heavens !  is  it  possible  for  a  grown  man  to  fall  heels 
over  head  in  love  in  two  short  hours?  I  don't  believe 
it.  It's  just  interest  —  nothing  more.  .  .  .  And 
I'll  have  to  have  a  change  of  clothes  before  I  can  do 
anything  further." 


LL68  THE  BLACK  BAG 

He  bowed  gratefully  to  the  lions,  in  view  of  their 
tolerant  interest  in  his  soliloquy,  and  set  off  very 
suddenly  round  the  square  and  up  St.  Martin's  Lane, 
striking  across  town  as  directly  as  might  be  for  St. 
Pancras  Station.  It  would  undoubtedly  be  a  long 
walk,  but  cabs  were  prohibited  by  his  straitened 
means,  and  the  busses  were  all  abed  and  wouldn't  be 
astir  for  hours. 

He  strode  along  rapidly,  finding  his  way  more 
through  intuition  than  by  observation  or  famil- 
iarity with  London's  geography  —  indeed,  was  scarce 
aware  of  his  surroundings;  for  his  brain  was  big 
with  fine  imagery,  rapt  in  a  glowing  dream  of  knight- 
errantry  and  chivalric  deeds. 

Thus  is  it  ever  and  alway  with  those  who  in  the 
purity  of  young  hearts  rush  in  where  angels  fear 
to  tread;  if  these,  Kirkwood  and  his  ilk,  be  fools, 
thank  God  for  them,  for  with  such  foolishness  is  life 
savored  and  made  sweet  and  sound!  To  Kirkwood 
the  warp  of  the  world  and  the  woof  of  it  was 
Romance,  and  it  wrapped  him  round,  a  magic 
mantle  to  set  him  apart  from  all  things  mean  and 
sordid  and  render  him  impregnable  and  invisible  to 
the  haunting  Shade  of  Care. 

Which,  by  the  same  token,  presently  lost  track  of 
him  entirely,  and  wandered  off  to  find  and  bedevil 
some  other  poor  devil.  And  Kirkwood,  his  eyes 
like  his  spirit  elevated,  saw  that  the  clouds  of 


MADAME  ^INTRIGANTE  169 

night  were  breaking,  the  skies  clearing,  that  the  East 
pulsed  ever  more  strongly  with  the  dim  golden  prom- 
ise of  the  day  to  come.  And  this  he  chose  to  take 
for  an  omen  —  prematurely,  it  may  be. 


AGAIN    "  BELOW    BRIDGE  " ;    AND    BEYOND 

I 

Kirkwood  wasted  little  time,  who  had  not  much  to 
waste,  were  he  to  do  that  upon  whose  doing  he  had 
set  his  heart.  It  irked  him  sore  to  have  to  lose  the 
invaluable  moments  demanded  by  certain  imperative 
arrangements,  but  his  haste  was  such  that  all  was 
consummated  within  an  hour. 

Within  the  period  of  a  single  hour,  then,  he  had 
ransomed  his  luggage  at  St.  Pancras,  caused  it  to 
be  loaded  upon  a  four-wheeler  and  transferred  to  a 
neighboring  hotel  of  evil  flavor  but  moderate  tariff, 
where  he  engaged  a  room  for  a  week,  ordered  an  im- 
mediate breakfast,  and  retired  with  his  belongings  to 
his  room;  he  had  shaved  and  changed  his  clothes, 
selecting  a  serviceable  suit  of  heavy  tweeds,  stout 
shoes,  a  fore-and-aft  cap  and  a  negligee  shirt  of  a 
deep  shade  calculated  at  least  to  seem  clean  for  a  long 
time ;  finally,  he  had  devoured  his  bacon  and  eggs, 
gulped  down  his  coffee  and  burned  his  mouth,  and, 
armed  with  a  stout  stick,  set  off  hotfoot  in  the  still 
dim  glimmering  of  early  day. 

By  this  time  his  cash  capital  had  dwindled  to  the 
170 


AGAIN  "  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  171 

sum  of  two  pounds,  ten  shillings,  eight-pence,  and 
would  have  been  much  less  had  he  paid  for  his  lodging 
in  advance.  But  he  considered  his  trunks  ample 
security  for  the  bill,  and  dared  not  wait  the  hour 
when  shopkeepers  begin  to  take  down  shutters  and 
it  becomes  possible  to  realize  upon  one's  jewelry.  Be* 
sides  which,  he  had  never  before  been  called  upon  to 
consider  the  advisability  of  raising  money  by  pledg- 
ing personal  property,  and  was  in  considerable  doubt 
as  to  the  right  course  of  procedure  in  such  emer- 
gency. 

At  King's  Cross  Station  on  the  Underground  an 
acute  disappointment  awaited  him;  there,  likewise,  he 
learned  something  about  London.  A  sympathetic 
bobby  informed  him  that  no  trains  would  be  running 
until  after  five-thirty,  and  that,  furthermore,  no  busses 
would  begin  to  ply  until  half  after  seven. 

"  It's  tramp  it  or  cab  it,  then,"  mused  the  young 
man  mournfully,  his  longing  gaze  seeking  a  nearby 
cab-rank  —  just  then  occupied  by  a  solitary  hansom, 
driver  somnolent  on  the  box.  "  Officer,"  he  again 
addressed  the  policeman,  mindful  of  the  English 
axiom:  "When  in  doubt,  ask  a  bobby." — "Officer, 
when's  high-tide  this  morning?  " 

The  bobby  produced  a  well-worn  pocket-almanac, 
moistened  a  massive  thumb,  and  rippled  the  pages. 

"  London  Bridge,  'igh  tide  twenty  minutes  arfter 
six,  sir,"  he  announced  with  a  glow  of  satisfaction 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

wholly  pardonable  in  one  who  combines  the  functions 
of  perambulating  almanac,  guide-book,  encyclopedia, 
and  conserver  of  the  peace. 

Kirkwood  said  something  beneath  his  breath  —  a 
word  in  itself  a  comfortable  mouthful  and  wholesome 
and  emphatic.  He  glanced  again  at  the  cab  and 
groaned:  "O  Lord,  I  just  dassent!"  With  which, 
thanking  the  bureau  of  information,  he  set  off  at  a 
quick  step  down  Grey's  Inn  Road. 

The  day  had  closed  down  in  brilliance  upon  the 
city  —  and  the  voice  of  the  milkman  was  to  be  heard 
in  the  land  —  when  he  trudged,  still  briskly  if  a  trifle 
wearily,  into  Holborn,  and  held  on  eastward  across 
the  Viaduct  and  down  Newgate  Street ;  the  while  add- 
ling his  weary  wits  with  heart-sickening  computations 
of  minutes,  all  going  hopelessly  to  prove  that  he  would 
be  late,  far  too  late  even  presupposing  the  unlikely. 
The  unlikely,  be  it  known,  was  that  the  Aleihea  would 
not  attempt  to  sail  before  the  turn  of  the  tide. 

For  this  was  his  mission,  to  find  the  Aleihea  before 
she  sailed.  Incredible  as  it  may  appear,  at  five 
o'clock,  or  maybe  earlier,  on  the  morning  of  the  twen- 
ty-second of  April,  1906,  A.  D.,  Philip  Kirkwood, 
normally  a  commonplace  but  likable  young  American 
in  full  possession  of  his  senses,  might  have  been  seen 
(and  by  some  was  seen)  plodding  manfully  through 
Cheapside,  London,  England,  engaged  upon  a  quest 
as  mad,  forlorn,  and  gallant  as  any  whose  chronicle 


AGAIN  "  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  173 

ever  inspired  the  pen  of  a  Malory  or  a  Froissart.  In 
brief  he  proposed  to  lend  his  arm  and  courage  to  be 
the  shield  and  buckler  of  one  who  might  or  might  not 
be  a  damsel  in  distress ;  according  as  to  whether  Mrs. 
Hallam  had  spoken  soothly  of  Dorothy  Calendar,  or. 
Kirkwood's  own  admirable  faith  in  the  girl  were  jus- 
tified of  itself. 

Proceeding  upon  the  working  hypothesis  that  Mrs. 
Hallam  was  a  polished  liar  in  most  respects,  but  had 
told  the  truth,  so  far  as  concerned  her  statement  to 
the  effect  that  the  gladstone  bag  contained  valuable 
real  property  (whose  ownership  remained  a  moot 
question,  though  Kirkwood  was  definitely  committed 
to  the  belief  that  it  was  none  of  Mrs.  Hallam's  or  her 
son's ) :  he  reasoned  that  the  two  adventurers,  with 
Dorothy  and  their  booty,  would  attempt  to  leave  Lon- 
don by  a  water  route,  in  the  ship,  Aleihea,  whose  name 
had  fallen  from  their  lips  at  Bermondsey  Old  Stairs. 

Kirkwood's  initial  task,  then,  would  be  to  find  the 
needle  in  the  haystack  —  the  metaphor  is  poor:  more 
properly,  to  sort  out  from  the  hundreds  of  vessels, 
of  all  descriptions,  at  anchor  in  midstream,  moored 
to  the  wharves  of  'long-shore  warehouses,  or  in^ 
the  gigantic  docks  that  line  the  Thames,  that  one 
called  Aletliea;  of  which  he  was  so  deeply  mired  in 
ignorance  that  he  could  not  say  whether  she  were 
tramp-steamer,  coastwise  passenger  boat,  one  of  the 
liners  that  ply  between  Tilbury  and  all  the  world, 


174  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Channel  ferry-boat,  private  yacht  (steam  or  sail)a 
schooner,  four-master,  square-rigger,  barque  or  brig- 
antine. 

A  task  to  stagger  the  optimism  of  any  but  one 
equipped  with  the  sublime  impudence  of  Youth ! 
Even  Kirkwood  was  disturbed  by  some  little  awe  when 
Tie  contemplated  the  vast  proportions  of  his  under- 
taking. None  the  less  doggedly  he  plugged  ahead, 
and  tried  to  keep  his  mind  from  vain  surmises  as  to 
what  would  be  his  portion  when  eventually  he  should 
find  himself  a  passenger,  uninvited  and  unwelcome, 
upon  the  Alethea.  .  .  . 

London  had  turned  over  once  or  twice,  and  was 
pulling  the  bedclothes  over  its  head  and  grumbling 
about  getting  up,  but  the  city  was  still  sound  asleep 
when  at  length  he  paused  for  a  minute's  rest  in  front 
of  the  Mansion  House,  and  realized  with  a  pang  of 
despair  that  he  was  completely  tuckered  out.  There 
was  a  dull,  vague  throbbing  in  his  head;  weights 
pressed  upon  his  eyeballs  until  they  ached ;  his  mouth 
was  hot  and  tasted  of  yesterday's  tobacco;  his  feet 
were  numb  and  heavy ;  his  joints  were  stiff ;  he  yawned 
frequently. 

With  a  sigh  he  surrendered  to  the  flesh's  frailty. 
An  early  cabby,  cruising  up  from  Cannon  Street  sta- 
tion on  the  off-chance  of  finding  some  one  astir  in 
the  city,  aside  from  the  doves  and  sparrows,  suffered 
the  surprise  of  his  life  when  Kirkwood  hailed  him. 


AGAIN  "  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  175 

His  face  was  blank  with  amazement  when  he  reined 
in,  and  his  eyes  bulged  when  the  prospective  fare, 
on  impulse,  explained  his  urgent  needs.  Happily 
he  turned  out  a  fair  representative  of  his  class,  an 
intelligent  and  unfuddled  cabby. 

"  Jump  in,  sir,"  he  told  Kirkwood  cheerfully,  as 
soon  as  he  had  assimilated  the  latter's  demands.  "  I 
knows  precisely  wotcher  wants.  Leave  it  all  to  me." 

The  admonition  was  all  but  superfluous ;  Kirkwood 
was  unable,  for  the  time  being,  to  do  aught  else  than 
resign  his  fate  into  another's  guidance.  Once  in  the 
cab  he  slipped  insensibly  into  a  nap,  and  slept  soundly 
on,  as  reckless  of  the  cab's  swift  pace  and  continuous 
jouncing  as  of  the  sunlight  glaring  full  in  his  tired 
young  face. 

He  may  have  slept  twenty  minutes ;  he  awoke  faint 
with  drowsiness,  tingling  from  head  to  toe  from  fa- 
tigue, and  in  distress  of  a  queer  qualm  in  the  pit 
of  his  stomach,  to  find  the  hansom  at  rest  and  the 
driver  on  the  step,  shaking  his  fare  with  kindly  de- 
termination. "  Oh,  a'  right,"  he  assented  surlily,  and 
by  sheer  force  of  will  made  himself  climb  out  to  the 
sidewalk;  where,  having  rubbed  his  eyes,  stretched 
enormously  and  yawned  discourteously  in  the  face 
of  the  East  End,  he  was  once  more  himself  and  a 
hundred  times  refreshed  into  the  bargain.  Con- 
tentedly he  counted  three  shillings  into  the  cabby's 
palm  —  the  fare  named  being  one-and-six. 


176  THE  BLACK  BAG 

b 

"  The  shilling  over  and  above  the  tip's  for  finding 
me  the  waterman  and  boat,"  he  stipulated. 

"  Right-o.     You'll  mind  the  'orse  a  minute,  sir  ?  " 

Kirkwood  nodded.  The  man  touched  his  hat  and 
disappeared  inexplicably.  Kirkwood,  needlessly  at- 
taching himself  to  the  reins  near  the  animal's  head, 
pried  his  sense  of  observation  open  and  became  alive 
to  the  fact  that  he  stood  in  a  quarter  of  London  as 
strange  to  him  as  had  been  Bermondsey  Wall. 

To  this  day  he  can  not  put  a  name  to  it;  he  sur- 
mises that  it  was  Wapping. 

Ramshackle  tenements  with  sharp  gable  roofs  lined 
either  side  of  the  way.  Frowsy  women  draped  them- 
selves over  the  window-sills.  Pallid  and  wasted  paro- 
dies on  childhood  contested  the  middle  of  the  street 
with  great,  slow  drays,  drawn  by  enormous  horses. 
On  the  sidewalks  twin  streams  of  masculine  humanity, 
flowed  without  rest,  both  bound  in  the  same  direction : 
dock  laborers  going  to  their  day's  work.  Men  of 
every  nationality  known  to  the  world  (he  thought) 
passed  him  in  his  short  five-minute  wait  by  the  horse's 
head;  Britons,  brown  East  Indians,  blacks  from  Ja- 
maica, swart  Italians,  Polaks,  Russian  Jews,  wire- 
drawn Yankees,  Spaniards,  Portuguese,  Greeks,  even 
a  Nubian  or  two:  uniform  in  these  things  only,  that 
their  backs  were  bent  with  toil,  bowed  beyond  mend- 
ing, and  their  faces  stamped  with  the  blurred  type- 
stamp  of  the  dumb  laboring  brute.  A  strangely; 


AGAIN  «  BELOW  BRIDGE  "          177 

hideous  procession,  they  shambled  on,  for  the  most 
part  silent,  all  uncouth  and  unreal  in  the  clear  morn- 
ing glow. 

The  outlander  was  sensible  of  some  relief  when 
his  cabby  popped  hurriedly  out  of  the  entrance  to  a 
tenement,  a  dull-visaged,  broad-shouldered  waterman 
ambling  more  slowly  after. 

"  Nevvy  of  mine,  sir,"  announced  the  cabby ;  "  and 
a  f ust-ryte  waterman ;  knows  the  river  like  a  book,  he 
do." 

The  nephew  touched  his  forelock  sheepishly. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Kirkwood ;  and,  turning  to  the 
man,  "  Your  boat?  "  he  asked  with  the  brevity  of 
"weariness. 

"  This  wye,  sir." 

At  his  guide's  heels  Kirkwood  threaded  the  crowd 
and,  entering  the  tenement,  stumbled  through  a 
gloomy  and  unsavory  passage,  to  come  out  at  last 
upon  a  scanty,  unrailed  veranda  overlooking  the  river. 
Ten  feet  below,  perhaps,  foul  waters  purred  and 
eddied  round  the  piles  supporting  the  rear  of  the 
building.  On  one  hand  a  ladder-like  flight  of  rickety 
steps  descended  to  a  floating  stage  to  which  a  heavy' 
rowboat  lay  moored.  In  the  latter  a  second  water- 
man was  seated  bailing  out  bilge  with  a  rusty  can. 

"  'Ere  we  are,  sir,"  said  the  cabman's  nephew, 
pausing  at  the  head  of  the  steps.  "  Now,  where's  it 
to  be?" 


178  THE  BLACK  BAG 

The  American  explained  tersely  that  he  had  a  mes- 
sage to  deliver  a  friend,  who  had  shipped  aboard  a 
vessel  known  as  the  Aleihea^  scheduled  to  sail  at  flood- 
tide  ;  further  than  which  deponent  averred  naught. 

The  waterman  scratched  his  head.  "  A  'ard  job, 
sir;  not  knowin'  wot  kind  of  a  boat  she  are  mykes  it 
'arder."  He  waited  hopefully. 

"  Ten  shillings,"  volunteered  Kirkwood  promptly ; 
"  ten  shillings  if  you  get  me  aboard  her  before  she 
weighs  anchor;  fifteen  if  I  keep  you  out  more  than 
an  hour,  and  still  you  put  me  aboard.  After  that 
we'll  make  other  terms." 

The  man  promptly  turned  his  back  to  hail  his 
mate.  "  'Arf  a  quid,  Bob,  if  we  puts  this  gent 
aboard  a  wessel  name  o'  Allyiheer  afore  she  syles 
at  turn  o'  tide." 

In  the  boat  the  man  with  the  bailing  can  turned 
up  an  impassive  countenance.  "  Coom  down,"  he 
clenched  the  bargain;  and  set  about  shipping  the 
sweeps. 

Kirkwood  crept  down  the  shaky  ladder  and  depos- 
ited himself  in  the  stern  of  the  boat ;  the  younger 
boatman  settled  himself  on  the  midship  thwart. 
'      "  Ready?  " 

"  Ready,"  assented  old  Bob  from  the  bows.  He 
cast  off  the  painter,  placed  one  sweep  against  the  edge 
of  the  stage,  and  with  a  vigorous  thrust  pushed  off; 
then  took  his  seat. 


AGAIN  "  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  179 

Bows  swinging  down-stream,  the  boat  shot  out  from 
the  shore. 

"  How's  the  tide?  "  demanded  Kirkwood,  his  im- 
patience growing. 

"  On  th'  turn,  sir,"  he  was  told. 

For  a  long  moment  broadside  to  the  current,  the 
boat  responded  to  the  sturdy  pulling  of  the  port 
sweeps.  Another  moment,  and  it  was  in  full  swing, 
the  watermen  bending  lustily  to  their  task.  Under 
their  unceasing  urge,  the  broad-beamed,  heavy  craft, 
aided  by  the  ebbing  tide,  surged  more  and  more  rap- 
idly through  the  water ;  the  banks,  grim  and  unsightly, 
with  their  towering,  impassive  warehouses  broken  by 
toppling  wooden  tenements,  slipped  swiftly  up-stream. 
Ship  after  ship  was  passed,  sailing  vessels  in  the 
majority,  swinging  sluggishly  at  anchor,  drifting 
slowly  with  the  river,  or  made  fast  to  the  goods- 
stages  of  the  shore;  and  in  keen  anxiety  lest  he 
should  overlook  the  right  one,  Kirkwood  searched  their 
bows  and  sterns  for  names,  which  in  more  than  one 
case  proved  hardly  legible. 

The  Alethea  was  not  of  their  number. 

In  the  course  of  some  ten  minutes,  the  watermen 
drove  the  boat  sharply  inshore,  bringing  her  up  along- 
side another  floating  stage,  in  the  shadow  of  another 
tenement  —  both  so  like  those  from  which  they  had 
embarked  that  Kirkwood  would  have  been  unable  to 
distinguish  one  from  another. 


180  THE  BLACK  BAG 

In  the  bows  old  Bob  lifted  up  a  stentorian  voice, 
summoning  one  William. 

Recognizing  that  there  was  some  design  in  this, 
the  passenger  subdued  his  disapproval  of  the  delay, 
and  sat  quiet. 

In  answer  to  the  third  ear-racking  hail,  a  man, 
clothed  simply  in  dirty  shirt  and  disreputable  trous- 
ers, showed  himself  in  the  doorway  above,  rubbing  the 
sleep  out  of  a  red,  bloated  countenance  with  a  mighty 
and  grimy  fist. 

"  'Ello,"  he  said  surlily.     «  Wot's  th'  row?  " 

"  'Oo,"  interrogated  old  Bob,  holding  the  boat 
steady  by  grasping  the  stage,  "  was  th'  party  wot 
engyged  yer  larst  night,  Bill?  " 

"  Party  name  o*  Allyiheer"  growled  the  drowsy, 
one.  "W'y?" 

"  Party  'ere's  lookin'  for  'im.  Where'll  I  find  this 
'Allytheer?  " 

"  Best  look  sharp  'r  yer  won't  find  'im,"  retorted 
the  one  above.  "  'E  "was  at  anchor  off  Bow  Creek 
larst  night." 

Kirkwood's  heart  leaped  in  hope.  "  What  sort 
of  a  vessel  was  she?  "  he  asked,  half  rising  in  his 
eagerness. 

"  Brigantine,  sir." 

"  Thank  —  you!  "  replied  Kirkwood  explosively, 
resuming  his  seat  with  uncalculated  haste  as  old  Bob, 
deaf  to  the  amenities  of  social  intercourse  in  an 


AGAIN  "BELOW  BRIDGE"  181}' 

emergency  involving  as  much  as  ten-bob,  shoved  off! 
again. 

And  again  the  boat  was  flying  down  in  midstream, 
the  leaden  waters,  shot  with  gold  of  the  morning 
sun,  parting  sullenly  beneath  its  bows. 

The  air  was  still,  heavy  and  tepid  ;  the  least  exertion 
brought  out  beaded  moisture  on  face  and  hands.  In 
the  east  hung  a  turgid  sky,  dull  with  haze,  through 
which  the  mounting  sun  swam  like  a  plaque  of  brass ; 
overhead  it  was  clear  and  cloudless,  but  besmirched 
as  if  the  polished  mirror  of  the  heavens  had  been 
fouled  by  the  breath  of  departing  night. 

On  the  right,  ahead,  Greenwich  Naval  College 
loomed  up,  the  great  gray-stone  buildings  beyond  the 
embankment  impressively  dominating  the  scene,  in 
happy  relief  against  the  wearisome  monotony  of  the 
river-banks ;  it  came  abreast ;  and  ebbed  into  the  back- 
wards of  the  scene. 

The  watermen  straining  at  the  sweeps,  the  boat 
sped  into  Blackwall  Reach,  Bugsby  Marshes  a  splash 
of  lurid  green  to  port,  dreary  Cubitt  Town  and  the 
West  India  Docks  to  starboard.  Here  the  river  ran 
thick  with  shipping. 

"Are  we  near?"  Kirkwood  would  know;  and  by 
way  of  reply  had  a  grunt  of  the  younger  water- 
man. 

Again,  "  Will  we  make  it?  "  he  asked. 

The  identical  grunt  answered  him ;  he  was  free  to 


,182  THE  BLACK  BAG 

interpret  it  as  he  would ;  young  William  —  as  old 
Bob  named  him  —  had  no  breath  for  idle  words. 
Kirkwood  subsided,  controlling  his  impatience  to  the 
best  of  his  ability ;  the  men,  he  told  himself  again  and 
t again,  were  earning  their  pay,  whether  or  not  they, 
gained  the  goal  of  his  desire.  .  .  .  Their  labors 
were  titanic;  on  their  temples  and  foreheads  the 
knotted  veins  stood  out  like  discolored  whip-cord ;  their 
faces  were  the  shade  of  raw  beef,  steaming  with 
iweat;  their  eyes  protruded  with  the  strain  that  set 
their  jaws  like  vises;  their  chests  heaved  and  shrank 
like  bellows ;  their  backs  curved,  straightened,  and 
bent  again  in  rhythmic  unison  as  tiring  to  the  eye 
as  the  swinging  of  a  pendulum. 

Hugging  the  marshy  shore,  they  rounded  the 
Blackwall  Point.  Young  William  looked  to  Kirk- 
wood,  caught  his  eye,  and  nodded. 

"  Here?  " 

Kirkwood  rose,  balancing  himself  against  the  leap 
and  sway  of  the  boat. 

"  Sumwhere's     .     .     .     'long     ...       o'  'ere." 

From  right  to  left  his  eager  glance  swept  the 
river's  widening  reach.  Vessels  were  there  in  abun- 
dance, odd,  unwieldy,  blunt-bowed  craft  with  huge, 
rakish,  tawny  sails ;  long  strings  of  flat  barges,  pyr- 
amidal mounds  of  coal  on  each,  lashed  to  another 
and  convoyed  by  panting  tugs ;  steam  cargo  boats, 
battered,  worn,  rusted  sore  through  their  age-old 


AGAIN  "  BELOW  BRIDGE  "  183 

paint;  a  steel  leviathan  of  the  deep  seas,  half  cargo, 
half  passenger  boat,  warping  reluctantly  into  the 
mouth  of  the  Victoria  Dock  tidal  basin, —  but  no 
brigantine,  no  sailing  vessel  of  any  type. 

The  young  man's  lips  checked  a  cry  that  was  half 
a  sob  of  bitter  disappointment.  He  had  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  the  chase  heart  and  soul,  with  an  en- 
thusiasm that  was  strange  to  him,  when  he  came  to 
look  back  upon  the  time;  and  to  fail,  even  though 
failure  had  been  discounted  a  hundredfold  since  the 
inception  of  his  mad  adventure,  seemed  hard,  very 
hard. 

He  sat  down  suddenly.  "  She's  gone ! "  he  cried 
in  a  hollow  gasp. 

The  boatmen  eased  upon  their  oars,  and  old  Bob 
stood  up  in  the  bows,  scanning  the  river-scape  with 
keen  eyes  shielded  by  a  level  palm.  Young  William 
drooped  forward  suddenly,  head  upon  knees,  and 
breathed  convulsively.  The  boat  drifted  listlessly, 
with  the  current. 

Old  Bob  panted :  "  'Dawn't  —  see  —  nawthin'  — — 
o'  'er."  He  resumed  his  seat. 

"  There's  no  hope,  I  suppose?  " 

The  elder  waterman  shook  his  head.     "  'Carn't  sye. 

Might   be   round  —  nex'   bend  —  might  be 

—  passin'     Purfleet.     .     .     .     'Point     is  —  me     an* 

young  Wilyum  'ere  —  carn't  do  no  more  —  'n  we  'as. 

We  be  wore  out.'* 

N. 


184  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Yes,"  Kirkwood  assented,  disconsolate.  "  You've 
certainly  earned  your  pay."  Then  hope  revived ;  he 
was  very  young  in  heart,  you  know.  "  Can't  you 
suggest  something  ?  I've  got  to  catch  that  ship ! " 

Old  Bob  wagged  his  head  in  slow  negation ;  young 
William  lifted  his. 

"  There's  a  rylewye  runs  by  Woolwich,"  he  ven- 
tured. "  Yer  might  tyke  tryne  an'  go  to  Sheerness, 
sir.  Yer'd  be  positive  o*  passin'  'er  if  she  didn't 
syle  afore  'igh-tide.  'Ire  a  boat  at  Sheerness  an'  put 
out  an'  look  for  'er." 

"  How  f  ar's  Woolwich  ?  "  Kirkwood  demanded  in- 
stantly. 

"  Mile,"  said  the  elder  man.  "  Tyke  yer  for  five- 
bob  extry." 

"  Done ! " 

Young  William  dashed  the  sweat  from  his  eyes, 
wiped  his  palms  on  his  hips,  and  fitted  the  sweeps 
again  to  the  wooden  tholes.  Old  Bob  was  as  ready. 
With  an  inarticulate  cry  they  gave  way. 


DESPEIIATE    MEASURES 

Old  Bob  seemed  something  inclined  toward  op- 
timism, when  the  boat  lay  alongside  a  landing-stage 
at  Woolwich,  and  Kirkwood  had  clambered  ashore. 

"  Yer'll  mebbe  myke  it,"  the  waterman  told  him 
with  a  weatherwise  survey  of  the  skies.  "  Wind's 
freshenin'  from  the  east'rds,  an'  that'll  'old  Jer  back 
a  bit,  sir." 

"  Arsk  th'  wye  to  th*  Dorkyard  Styshun,"  youngi 
William  volunteered.  "  'Tis  th'  shortest  walk,  sir. 
I  'opes  yer  catches  'er.  »  .  .  Thanky,  sir." 

He  caught  dextrously  the  sovereign  which  Kirk- 
wood,  in  ungrudging  liberality,  spared  them  of  his 
store  of  two.  The  American  nodded  acknowledg- 
ments and  adieux,  with  a  faded  smile  deprecating  his 
chances  of  winning  the  race,  sorely  handicapped  as 
he  was.  He  was  very,  very  tired,  and  in  his  heart 
suspected  that  he  would  fail.  But,  if  he  did,  he 
would  at  least  be  able  to  comfort  himself  that  it  was 
not  for  lack  of  trying.  He  set  his  teeth  on  that 
covenant,  in  grim  determination ;  either  there  was 
a  strain  of  the  bulldog  latent  in  the  Kirkwood  breed 

185 


186  THE  BLACK  BAG 

or  else  his  infatuation  gripped  him  more  strongly 
than  he  guessed. 

Yet  he  suspected  something  of  its  power;  he  knew 
that  this  was  altogether  an  insane  proceeding,  and 
that  the  lure  that  led  him  on  was  Dorothy  Calendar. 
A  strange  dull  light  glowed  in  his  weary  eyes, 
on  the  thought  of  her.  He'd  go  through  fire  and 
water  in  her  service.  She  was  costing  him  dear,  per- 
haps was  to  cost  him  dearer  still ;  and  perhaps  there'd 
be  for  his  guerdon  no  more  than  a  "  Thank  you,  Mr. 
Kirkwood !  "  at  the  end  of  the  passage.  But  that 
would  be  no  less  than  his  deserts ;  he  was  not  to  forget 
that  he  was  interfering  unwarrantably;  the  girl  was 
in  her  father's  hands,  surely  safe  enough  there  — 
to  the  casual  mind.  If  her  partnership  in  her 
parent's  fortunes  were  distasteful,  she  endured 
it  passively,  without  complaint. 

He  decided  that  it  was  his  duty  to  remind  himself, 
from  time  to  time,  that  his  main  interest  must  be  in 
the  game  itself,  in  the  solution  of  the  riddle;  what- 
ever should  befall,  he  must  look  for  no  reward  for  his 
gratuitous  and  self-appointed  part.  Indeed  he  was 
all  but  successful  in  persuading  himself  that  it  was 
the  fascination  of  adventure  alone  that  drew  him  on. 

Whatever  the  lure,  it  was  inexorable;  instead  of 
doing  as  a  sensible  person  would  have  done  —  re- 
turning to  London  for  a  long  rest  in  his  hotel  room, 
ere  striving  to  retrieve  his  shattered  fortunes  —  Philip 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  187 

Kirkwood  turned  up  the  village  street,  intent  only  to 
find  the  railway  station  and  catch  the  first  available 
train  for  Sheerness,  were  that  an  early  one  or  a  late. 

A  hapchance  native  whom  he  presently  encountered, 
furnished  minute  directions  for  reaching  the  Dock- 
yard Station  of  the  Southeastern  and  Chatham  Rail- 
way, adding  comfortable  information  to  the  effect 
that  the  next  east-bound  train  would  pass  through  in 
ten  minutes;  if  Kirkwood  would  mend  his  pace  he 
could  make  it  easily,  with  time  to  spare. 

Kirkwood  mended  his  pace  accordingly,  but,  con- 
trary to  the  prediction,  had  no  time  to  spare  at  all. 
Even  as  he  stormed  the  ticket-grating,  the  train  was 
thundering  in  at  the  platform.  Therefore  a  nervous 
ticket  agent  passed  him  out  a  first-class  ticket  instead 
of  the  third-class  he  had  asked  for;  and  there  was  no 
time  wherein  to  have  the  mistake  rectified.  Kirkwood 
planked  down  the  fare,  swore,  and  sprinted  for  the 
carriages. 

The  first  compartment  whose  door  he  jerked 
violently  open,  proved  to  be  occupied,  and  was,  more- 
over, not  a  smoking-car.  He  received  a  fleeting  im- 
pression of  a  woman's  startled  eyes,  staring  into  his 
own  through  a  thin  mesh  of  veiling,  fell  off  the  run- 
ning-board, slammed  the  door,  and  hurled  himself  to- 
wards the  next  compartment.  Here  happier  fortune 
attended  upon  his  desire ;  the  box-like  section  was  un- 
tenanted,  and  a  notice  blown  upon  the  window-glass 


188  THE  BLACK  BAG 

announced  that  it  was  "  2nd  Class  Smoking."  Kirk- 
wood  promptly  tumbled  in ;  and  when  he  turned  to 
shut  the  door  the  coaches  were  moving. 

A  pipe  helped  him  to  bear  up  while  the  train  was 
making  its  two  other  stops  in  the  Borough  of  Wool- 
wich: a  circumstance  so  maddening  to  a  man  in  a 
hurry,  that  it  set  Kirkwood's  teeth  on  edge  with  sheer 
impatience,  and  made  him  long  fervently  for  the 
land  of  his  birth,  where  they  do  things  differently  — 
where  the  Board  of  Directors  of  a  railway  company 
doesn't  erect  three  substantial  passenger  depots  in  the 
course  of  a  mile  and  a  half  of  overgrown  village, 
It  consoled  him  little  that  none  disputed  with  him 
his  lonely  possession  of  the  compartment,  that  he  had 
caught  the  Sheerness  train,  or  that  he  was  really 
losing  no  time;  a  sense  of  deep  dejection  had  settled 
down  upon  his  consciousness,  with  a  realization  of 
how  completely  a  fool's  errand  was  this  of  his.  He 
felt  foredoomed  to  failure;  he  was  never  to  see 
Dorothy  Calendar  again ;  and  his  brain  seemed  numb 
with  disappointment. 

Rattling  and  swaying,  the  train  left  the  town  be- 
hind. 

Presently  he  put  aside  his  pipe  and  stared  blankly 
out  at  a  reeling  landscape,  the  pleasant,  homely, 
smiling  countryside  of  Kent.  A  deeper  melancholy 
tinted  his  mind:  Dorothy  Calendar  was  for  ever  lost 
to  him. 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  189 

The  trucks  drummed  it  out  persistently  —  he 
thought,  vindictively :  "  Lost! "...  Lost! 
For  ever  lost!  .  .  . " 

And  he  had  made  —  was  then  making  —  a  damned 
fool  of  himself.  The  trucks  had  no  need  to  din  that 
into  his  thick  skull  by  their  ceaseless  iteration ;  he  knew 
it,  would  not  deny  it.  ... 

And  it  was  all  his  own  fault.  He'd  had  his  chance, 
Calendar  had  offered  him  it.  If  only  he  had  closed 
with  the  fat  adventurer  ! 

Before  his  eyes  field  and  coppice,  hedge  and  home- 
stead, stream  and  flowing  highway,  all  blurred  and 
ran  streakily  into  one  another,  like  a  highly  impres- 
sionistic water-color.  He  could  make  neither  head 
nor  tail  of  the  flying  views,  and  so  far  as  coherent 
thought  was  concerned,  he  could  not  put  two  ideas 
together.  Without  understanding  distinctly,  he 
presently  did  a  more  wise  and  wholesome  thing :  which 
was  to  topple  limply  over  on  the  cushions  and  fall 
fast  asleep. 

After  a  long  time  he  seemed  to  realize  rather  hazily 
that  the  carriage-door  had  been  opened  to  admit 
somebody.  Its  smart  closing  bang  shocked  him 
awake.  He  sat  up,  blinking  in  confusion,  hardly 
conscious  of  more,  to  begin  with,  than  that  the  train 
had  paused  and  was  again  in  full  flight.  Then,  his 
senses  clearing,  he  became  aware  that  his  solitary 


190  THE  BLACK  BAG 

companion,  just  entered,  was  a  woman.  She  was 
seated  over  across  from  him,  her  back  to  the  engine, 
in  an  attitude  which  somehow  suggested  a  highly, 
nonchalant  frame  of  mind.  She  laughed,  and  im- 
mediately her  speaking  voice  was  high  and  sweet  in 
his  hearing. 

"  Really,  you  know,  Mr.  Kirkwood,  I  simply 
couldn't  contain  my  impatience  another  instant." 

Kirkwood  gasped  and  tried  to  re-collect  his  wits. 

"  Beg  pardon  —  I've  been  asleep,"  he  said  stupidly. 

"  Yes.  I'm  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,  but,  you 
know,  you  must  make  allowances  for  a  woman's 
nerves." 

Beneath  his  breath  the  bewildered  man  said: 
"  The  deuce ! "  and  above  it,  in  a  stupefied  tone : 
"Mrs.  Hallam!" 

She  nodded  in  a  not  unfriendly  fashion,  smiling 
brightly.  "  Myself,  Mr.  Kirkwood !  Really,  our 
predestined  paths  are  badly  tangled,  just  now;  aren't 
they?  Were  you  surprised  to  find  me  in  here,  with 
you  ?  Come  now,  confess  you  were !  " 

He  remarked  the  smooth,  girlish  freshness  of  her 
cheeks,  the  sense  and  humor  of  her  mouth,  the  veiled 
gleam  of  excitement  in  her  eyes  of  the  changing  sea ; 
and  saw,  as  well,  that  she  was  dressed  for  traveling, 
sensibly  but  with  an  air,  and  had  brought  a  small 
hand-bag  with  her. 

"  Surprised  and  delighted,"  he  replied,  recovering, 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  191 

with  mendacity  so  intentional  and  obvious  that  the 
woman  laughed  aloud. 

"  I  knew  you'd  be !  .  .  .  You  see,  I  had  the 
carriage  ahead,  the  one  you  didn't  take.  I  was  so 
disappointed  when  you  flung  up  to  the  door  and 
away  again !  You  didn't  see  me  hanging  half  out 
the  window  to  watch  where  you  went,  did  you? 
That's  how  I  discovered  that  your  discourtesy  was 
unintentional,  that  you  hadn't  recognized  me, —  by 
the  fact  that  you  took  this  compartment,  right  behind 
my  own." 

She  paused  invitingly,  but  Kirkwood,  grown  wary, 
contented  himself  with  picking  up  his  pipe  and  care- 
fully knocking  out  the  dottle  on  the  window-ledge. 

"  I  was  glad  to  see  you*,"  she  affirmed;  "  but  only 
partly  because  you  were  you,  Mr.  Kirkwood.  The 
other  and  major  part  was  because  sight  of  you  con- 
firmed my  own  secret  intuition.  You  see,  I'm  quite 
old  enough  and  wise  enough  to  question  even  my  own 
intuitions." 

"  A  woman  wise  enough  for  that  is  an  adult< 
prodigy,"  he  ventured  cautiously. 

"  It's  experience  and  age.  I  insist  upon  the  age ; 
J  the  mother  of  a  grown-up  boy !  So  I  deliberately 
ran  after  you,  changing  when  we  stopped  at  Newing- 
ton.  You  might've  escaped  me  if  I  had  waited  until 
we  got  to  Queensborough." 

Again  she  paused  in  open  expectancy.     Kirkwood, 


192  THE  BLACK  BAG 

perplexed,  put  the  pipe  in  his  pocket,  and  assumed 
a  factitious  look  of  resignation,  regarding  her 
askance  with  that  whimsical  twist  of  his  eyebrows. 

"  For  you  are  going  to  Queensborough,  aren't  you, 
Mr.  Kirkwood?  " 

"Queensborough?"  he  echoed  blankly;  and,  in 
fact,  he  was  at  a  loss  to  follow  her  drift.  "  No,  Mrs. 
Hallam ;  I'm  not  bound  thene." 

Her  surprise  was  apparent^  she  made  no  effort  to 
conceal  it.  "  But,"  she  faltered,  "  if  not  there  — " 

"  'Give  you  my  word,  Mrs.  Hallam,  I  have  no  in- 
tention whatever  of  going  to  Queensborough,"  Kirk- 
wood  protested. 

"  I  don't  understand."  The  nervous  drumming  of 
a  patent-leather  covered  toe,  visible  beneath  the  hem 
of  her  dress,  alone  betrayed  a  rising  tide  of  im- 
patience. "  Then  my  intuition  was  at  fault ! " 

"  In  this  instance,  if  it  was  at  all  concerned  with 
my  insignificant  affairs,  yes  —  most  decidedly  at 
fault." 

She  shook  her  head,  regarding  him  with  grave  sus- 
picion. "  I  hardly  know  whether  to  believe  you. 
I  think  ..."  * 

Kirkwood's  countenance  displayed  an  added  shade 
of  red.  After  a  moment,  "  I  mean  no  discourtesy," 
he  began  stiffly,  "  but  — " 

"  But  you  don't  care  a  farthing  whether  I  believe 
you  or  not?  " 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  193 

He  caught  her  laughing  eye,  and  smiled,  the  flush 
subsiding. 

"Very  well,  then !  Now  let  us  see :  Where  are  you 
bound?  " 

Kirkwood  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"  I'm  convinced  it's  a  rendezvous     .     .     .  ?  " 

Kirkwood  smiled  patiently  at  the  landscape. 

"  Is  Dorothy  Calendar/so  very,  very  beautiful,  Mr. 
Kirkwood  ?  "  —  with  a  trace  of  malice. 

Ostentatiously  Kirkwood  read  the  South  Eastern 
and  Chatham's  framed  card  of  warning,  posted  just 
above  Mrs.  Hallam's  head,  to  all  such  incurable 
lunatics  as  are  possessed  of  a  desire  to  travel  on  the 
running-boards  of  railway  carriages. 

"  You  are  going  to  meet  her,  aren't  you  ?  " 

He  gracefully  concealed  a  yawn. 

The  woman's  plan  of  attack  took  another  form. 
"  Last  night,  when  you  told  me  your  story,  I  believed 
you." 

He  devoted  himself  to  suppressing  the  temptingly 
obvious  retort,  and  succeeded ;  but  though  he  left  it 
unspoken,  the  humor  of  it  twitched  the  corners  of  his 
mouth;  and  Mrs.  Hallam  was  observant.  So  that 
her  next  attempt  to  draw  him  out  was  edged  with 
temper. 

"  I  believed  you  an  American  but  a  gentleman ;  it 
appears  that,  if  you  ever  were  the  latter,  you've  fallen 
so  low  that  you  willingly  cast  your  lot  with  thieves." 


194  THE  BLACK  BAG 

».. 

Having  exhausted  his  repertoire  of  rudenesses,  Kirk- 
wood  took  to  twiddling  his  thumbs. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  think  it  fair  to  me  or 
my  son,  to  leave  us  in  ignorance  of  the  place  where 
you  are  to  meet  the  thieves  who  stole  our  —  my  son's 
jewels?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hallam,"  he  said  soberly,  "  if  I  am  going 
to  meet  Mr.  Calendar  or  Mr.  Mulready,  I  have  no 
assurance  of  that  fact." 

There  was  only  the  briefest  of  pauses,  during  which 
she  analyzed  this ;  then,  quickly,  "  But  you  hope 
to?  "  she  snapped. 

He  felt  that  the  only  adequate  retort  to  this  would 
be  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders ;  doubted  his  ability  to 
carry  one  off ;  and  again  took  refuge  in  silence. 

The  woman  abandoned  a  second  plan  of  siege,  with 
a  readiness  that  did  credit  to  her  knowledge  of 
mankind.  She  thought  out  the  next  very  carefully, 
before  opening  with  a  masked  battery. 

"  Mr.  Kirkwood,  can't  we  be  friends  —  this  aside?  " 

"  Nothing  could  please  me  more,  Mrs.  Hallam !  " 

"  I'm  sorry  if  I've  annoyed  you  — " 

"  And  I,  too,  have  been  rude." 

"  Last  night,  when  you  cut  away  so  suddenly,  you 
prevented  my  making  you  a  proposal,  a  sort  of  a 
business  proposition  .  .  . " 

"Yes—?" 

"  To  come  over  to  our  side  — " 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  195 

"  I  thought  so.     That  was  why  I  went." 
"  Yes ;    I   understood.      But   this    morning,   when 
you've  had  time  to  think  it  over — ?  " 

"  I  have  no  choice  in  the  matter,  Mrs.  Hallam." 
The  green  eyes  darkened  ominously.     "  You  mean 
—  I  am  to  understand,  then,  that  you're  against  us, 
that  you  prefer  to  side  with  swindlers  and  scoundrels, 
all  because  of  a  — " 

She  discovered  him  eying  her  with  a  smile  of  such 
inscrutable  and  sardonic  intelligence,  that  the  words 
died  on  her  lips,  and  she  crimsoned,  treasonably  to 
herself.  For  he  saw  it;  and  the  belief  he  had  con- 
ceived while  attending  to  her  tissue  of  fabrication, 
earlier  that  morning,  was  strengthened  to  the  point 
of  conviction  that,  if  anything  had  been  stolen  by 
anybody,  Mrs.  Hallam  and  her  son  owned  it  as  little 
as  Calendar. 

As  for  the  woman,  she  felt  she  had  steadily  lost, 
rather  than  gained,  ground;  and  the  flash  of  anger 
that  had  colored  her  cheeks,  lit  twin  beacons  in  her 
eyes,  which  she  resolutely  fought  down  until  they 
faded  to  mere  gleams  of  resentment  and  determination. 
But  she  forgot  to  control  her  lips ;  and  they  are  the 
truest  indices  to  a  woman's  character  and  temper- 
ament ;  and  Kirkwood  did  not  overlook  the  circum- 
stance that  their  specious  sweetness  had  vanished, 
leaving  them  straight,  set  and  hard,  quite  the  reverse 
of  attractive. 


196  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  So,"  she  said  slowly,  after  a  silent  time,  "  you 
are  not  for  Queensborough !  The  corollary  of  that 
admission,  Mr.  Kirkwood,  is  that  you  are  for  Sheer- 
ness." 

"  I  believe,"  he  replied  wearily,  "  that  there  are  no 
other  stations  on  this  line,  after  Newington." 

"  It  follows,  then,  that  —  that  I  follow."  And  in 
answer  to  his  perturbed  glance,  she  added :  "  Oh,  I'll 
grant  that  intuition  is  sometimes  a  poor  guide.  But 
if  you  meet  George  Calendar,  so  shall  I.  Nothing 
can  prevent  that.  You  can't  hinder  me." 

Considerably  amused,  he  chuckled.  "  Let  us  talk 
of  other  things,  Mrs.  Hallam,"  he  suggested  pleas- 
antly. "  How  is  your  son  ?  " 

At  this  juncture  the  brakes  began  to  shriek  and 
grind  upon  the  wheels.  The  train  slowed ;  it  stopped ; 
and  the  voice  of  a  guard  could  be  heard  admonishing 
passengers  for  Queensborough  Pier  to  alight  and  take 
the  branch  line.  In  the  noise  the  woman's  response 
was  drowned,  and  Kirkwood  was  hardly  enough  con- 
cerned for  poor  Freddie  to  repeat  his  question. 

When,  after  a  little,  the  train  pulled  out  of  the 
junction,  neither  found  reason  to  resume  the  conver- 
sation. During  the  brief  balance  of  the  journey  Mrs. 
Hallam  presumably  had  food  for  thought;  she 
frowned,  pursed  her  lips,  and  with  one  daintily  gloved 
forefinger  followed  a  seam  of  her  tailored  skirt ;  while 
Kirkwood  sat  watching  and  wondering  how  to  rid 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  197 

himself  of  her,  if  she  proved  really  as  troublesome  as 
she  threatened  to  be. 

Also,  he  wondered  continually  what  it  was  all 
about.  Why  did  Mrs.  Hallam  suspect  him  of  design- 
ing to  meet  Calendar  at  Queensborough  ?  Had  she 
any  tangible  ground  for  believing  that  Calendar 
could  be  found  in  Queensborough?  Presumably  she 
had,  since  she  was  avowedly  in.  pursuit  of  that 
gentleman,  and,  Kirkwood  inferred,  had  booked  for 
Queensborough.  Was  he,  then,  running  away  from 
Calendar  and  his  daughter  to  chase  a  will-o'-the-wisp 
of  his  credulous  fancy,  off  Sheerness  shore? 

Disturbing  reflection.  He  scowled  over  it,  then 
considered  the  other  side  of  the  face.  Presuming 
Mrs.  Hallam  to  have  had  reasonably  dependable  as- 
surance that  Calendar  would  stop  in  Queensborough, 
would  she  so  readily  have  abandoned  her  design  to 
catch  him,  there,  on  the  mere  supposition  that  Kirk- 
wood  might  be  looking  for  him  in  Sheerness?  That 
did  not  seem  likely,  to  one  who  esteemed  Mrs.  Hallam's 
acumen  as  highly  as  Kirkwood  did.  He  brightened 
up,  forgot  that  his  was  a  fool's  errand,  and  began 
again  to  project  strategic  plans  into  a  problematic 
future. 

A  sudden  jolt  interrupted  this  pastime,  and  the 
warning  screech  of  the  brakes  informed  that  he  had 
no  time  to  scheme,  but  had  best  continue  on  the  plan 
of  action  that  had  brought  him  thus  far  —  that  is, 


198  THE  BLACK  BAG 

trust  to  his  star  and  accept  what  should  befall  with- 
out repining. 

He  rose,  opened  the  door,  and  holding  it  so,  turned. 

"  I  regret,  Mrs.  Hallam,"  he  announced,  smiling- 
his  crooked  smile,  "  that  a  pressing  engagement  is 
about  to  prohibit  my  'squiring  you  through  the  ticket- 
gates.  You  understand,  I'm  sure." 

His  irrepressible  humor  proved  infectious;  and 
Mrs.  Hallam's  spirit  ran  as  high  as  his  own.  She 
was  smiling  cheerfully  when  she,  too,  rose. 

"  I  also  am  in  some  haste,"  she  averred  demurely, 
gathering  up  her  hand-bag  and  umbrella. 

A  raised  platform  shot  in  beside  the  carriage,  and 
the  speed  was  so  sensibly  moderated  that  the  train 
seemed  to  be  creeping  rather  than  running.  Kirk- 
wood  flung  the  door  wide  open  and  lowered  himself 
to  the  running-board.  The  end  of  the  track  was 
in  sight  and  —  a  man  who  has  been  trained  to  board 
San  Francisco  cable-cars  fears  to  alight  from  no 
moving  vehicle.  He  swung  off,  got  his  balance,  and 
ran  swiftly  down  the  platform. 

A  cry  from  a  bystander  caused  him  to  glance  over 
his  shoulder;  Mrs.  Hallam  was  then  in  the  act  of 
alighting.  As  he  looked  the  flurry  of  skirts  subsided 
and  she  fell  into  stride,  pursuing. 

Sleepy  Sheerness  must  have  been  scandalized,  that 
day,  and  its  gossips  have  acquired  ground  for  many 
an  uncharitable  surmise. 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  199 

Kirkwood,  however,  was  so  fortunate  as  to  gain  the 
wicket  before  the  employee  there  awoke  to  the  situ- 
ation. Otherwise,  such  is  the  temper  of  British  petty 
officialdom,  he  might  have  detained  the  fugitive.  As 
it  was,  Kirkwood  surrendered  his  ticket  and  ran  out 
into  the  street  with  his  luck  still  a  dominant  factor  in 
the  race.  For,  looking  back,  he  saw  that  Mrs. 
Hallam  had  been  held  up  at  the  gate,  another  victim 
of  British  red-tape;  her  ticket  read  for  Queens- 
borough,  she  was  attempting  to  alight  one  station 
farther  down  the  line,  and  while  undoubtedly  she  was 
anxious  to  pay  the  excess  fare,  Heaven  alone  knew 
when  she  would  succeed  in  allaying  the  suspicions  and 
resentment  of  the  ticket-taker. 

"  That's  good  for  ten  minutes'  start ! "  Kirkwood 
crowed.  "  And  it  never  occurred  to  me  — !  " 

Before  the  station  he  found  two  hacks  in  waiting, 
with  little  to  choose  between  them ;  neither  was  of  a 
type  that  did  not  seem  to  advertise  its  pre-Victorian 
fashioning,  and  to  neither  was  harnessed  an  animal 
that  deserved  anything  but  the  epithet  of  screw. 
Kirkwood  took  the  nearest  for  no  other  reason  than 
because  it  was  the  nearest,  and  all  but  startled  the 
driver  off  his  box  by  offering  double-fare  for  a  brisk 
pace  and  a  simple  service  at  the  end  of  the  ride.  Suc- 
cinctly he  set  forth  his  wants,  jumped  into  the  anti- 
quated four-wheeler,  and  threw  himself  down  upon 
musty,  dusty  cushions  to  hug  himself  over  the  joke 


200  THE  BLACK  BAG 

and  bless  whatever  English  board  of  railway  directors 
it  was  that  first  ordained  that  tickets  should  be 
taken  up  at  the  end  instead  of  the  outset  of  a  jour- 
ney. 

It  was  promptly  made  manifest  that  he  had  fur- 
ther cause  for  gratulation.  The  cabby,  recovering 
from  his  amazement,  was  plying  an  indefatigable 
whip  and  thereby  eliciting  a  degree  of  speed  from  his 
superannuated  nag,  that  his  fare  had  by  no  means 
hoped  for,  much  less  anticipated.  The  cab  rocked 
and  racketed  through  Sheerness'  streets  at  a  pace 
which  is  believed  to  be  unprecedented  and  unrivaled; 
its  passenger,  dashed  from  side  to  side,  had  all  he 
could  do  to  keep  from  battering  the  vehicle  to  pieces 
with  his  head ;  while  it  was  entirely  out  of  the  question 
to  attempt  to  determine  whether  or  not  he  was  being 
pursued.  He  enjoyed  it  all  hugely. 

In  a  period  of  time  surprisingly  short,  he  saw, 
from  fleeting  glimpses  of  the  scenery  to  be  obtained 
through  the  reeling  windows,  that  they  were  thread- 
ing the  outskirts  of  the  town ;  synchronously,  whether 
by  design  or  through  actual  inability  to  maintain  it, 
the  speed  was  moderated.  And  in  the  course  of  a  few 
more  minutes  the  cab  stopped  definitely. 

Kirkwood  clambered  painfully  out,  shook  himself 
together  and  the  bruises  out  of  his  bones,  and  looked 
fearfully  back. 

Aside  from  a  slowly  settling  cloud  of  dust,  the  road 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  201 

ran  clear  as  far  as  he  could  see  —  to  the  point,  in 
fact,  where  the  town  closed  in  about  it. 

He  had  won;  at  all  events  in  so  much  as  to  win 
meant  eluding  the  persevering  Mrs.  Hallam.  But  to 
what  end? 

Abstractedly  he  tendered  his  lonely  sovereign  to 
the  driver,  and  without  even  looking  at  it,  crammed 
the  heavy  weight  of  change  into  his  pocket ;  an  over- 
sight which  not  only  won  him  the  awe-struck  admi- 
ration of  the  cabby,  but  entailed  consequences  ( it  may 
be)  he  little  apprehended.  It  was  with  an  absent- 
minded  nod  that  he  acquiesced  in  the  man's  announce- 
ment that  he  might  arrange  about  the  boat  for 
him.  Accordingly  the  cabby  disappeared ;  and  Kirk- 
wood  continued  to  stare  about  him,  eagerly,  hopefully. 

He  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  Thames  estuary,  there 
a  possible  five  miles  from  shore  to  shore ;  from  his 
feet,  almost,  a  broad  shingle  beach  sloped  gently  to 
the  water. 

On  one  hand  a  dilapidated  picket-fence  enclosed  the 
door-yard  of  a  fisherman's  cottage,  or,  better,  hovel, 
—  if  it  need  be  accurately  described  —  at  the  door 
of  which  the  cabby  was  knocking. 

The  morning  was  now  well-advanced.  The  sun 
rode  high,  a  sphere  of  tarnished  flame  in  a  void  of 
silver-gray,  its  thin  cold  radiance  striking  pallid 
sparks  from  the  leaping  crests  of  wind-whipped  waves. 
In  the  east  a  wall  of  vapor,  dull  and  lusterless,  had 


202  THE  BLACK  BAG 

taken  body  since  the  dawn,  masking  the  skies  and 
shutting  down  upon  the  sea  like  some  vast  curtain; 
and  out  of  the  heart  of  this  a  bitter  and  vicious  wind 
played  like  a  sword. 

To  the  north,  Shoeburyness  loomed  vaguely,  like 
a  low-drifted  bank  of  cloud.  Off  to  the  right  the 
Nore  Lightship  danced,  a  tiny  fleck  of  warm  crimson 
in  a  wilderness  of  slatey-blue  waters,  plumed  with  a 
myriad  of  vanishing  white-caps. 

Up  the  shelving  shore,  small,  puny  wavelets  dashed 
in  impotent  fury,  and  the  shingle  sang  unceasingly 
its  dreary,  syncopated  monotone.  High  and  dry,  a 
few  dingy  boats  lay  canted  wearily  upon  their  broad, 
swelling  sides, —  a  couple  of  dories,  apparently  in 
daily  use ;  a  small  sloop  yacht,  dismantled  and  plainly 
beyond  repair;  and  an  oyster-smack  also  out  of  com- 
mission. About  them  the  beach  was  strewn  with  a 
litter  of  miscellany, —  nets,  oars,  cork  buoys,  bits  of 
wreckage  and  driftwood,  a  few  fish  too  long  forgotten 
and  (one  assumed)  responsible  in  part  for  the  foreign 
wealth  of  the  atmosphere. 

Some  little  distance  offshore  a  fishing-boat,  cat- 
rigged  and  not  more  than  twenty-feet  over  all,  swung 
bobbing  at  her  mooring,  keen  nose  searching  into  the 
wind;  at  sight  of  which  Kirkwood  gave  thanks,  for 
his  adventitious  guide  had  served  him  well,  if  that 
boat  were  to  be  hired  by  any  manner  of  persuasion. 

But  it  was  to  the  farther  reaches  of  the  estuary 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  203 

that  he  gave  more  prolonged  and  most  anxious  heed, 
scanning  narrowly  what  shipping  was  there  to  be  seen. 
Far  beyond  the  lightship  a  liner  was  riding  the  waves 
with  serene  contempt,  making  for  the  river's  mouth 
and  Tilbury  Dock.  Nearer  in,  a  cargo  boat  was 
standing  out  upon  the  long  trail,  the  white  of  riven 
waters  showing  clearly  against  her  unclean  freeboard. 
Out  to  east  a  little  covey  of  fishing-smacks,  red  sails 
well  reefed,  were  scudding  before  the  wind  like 
strange  affrighted  water-fowl,  and  bearing  down  past 
a  heavy-laden  river  barge.  The  latter,  with  tarpaulin 
battened  snugly  down  over  the  cockpit  and  the  seas 
dashing  over  her  wash-board  until  she  seemed  under 
water  half  the  time,  was  forging  stodgily  London- 
wards,  her  bargee  at  the  tiller  smoking  a  placid  pipe. 

But  a  single  sailing  vessel  of  any  notable  tonnage 
was  in  sight;  and  when  he  saw  her  Kirkwood's  heart 
became  buoyant  with  hope,  and  he  began  to  tremble 
with  nervous  eagerness.  For  he  believed  her  to  be 
the  Aleihea. 

There's  no  mistaking  a  ship  brigantine-rigged  for 
any  other  style  of  craft  that  sails  the  seas. 

From  her  position  when  first  he  saw  her,  Kirkwood 
could  have  fancied  she  was  tacking  out  of  the  mouth 
of  the  Medway;  but  he  judged  that,  leaving  the 
Thames'  mouth,  she  had  tacked  to  starboard  until 
well-nigh  within  hail  of  Sheerness.  Now,  having  pre- 
sumably gone  about,  she  was  standing  out  toward  the 


204  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Nore,  boring  doggedly  into  the  wind.  He  would  have 
given  a  deal  for  glasses  wherewith  to  read  the  name 
upon  her  bows,  but  was  sensible  of  no  hampering 
doubts ;  nor,  had  he  harbored  any,  would  they  have 
.deterred  him.  He  had  set  his  heart  upon  the  win- 
'ning  of  his  venture,  had  come  too  far,  risked  far  too 
much,  to  suffer  anything  now  to  stay  his  hand  and 
stand  between  him  and  Dorothy  Calendar.  What- 
ever the  further  risks  and  hazards,  though  he  should 
take  his  life  in  his  hands  to  win  to  her  side,  he  would 
struggle  on.  He  recked  nothing  of  personal  danger; 
a  less  selfish  passion  ran  molten  in  his  veins,  moving 
him  to  madness. 

Fascinated,  he  fixed  his  gaze  upon  the  reeling  brig- 
antine,  and  for  a  space  it  was  as  if  by  longing  he  had 
projected  his  spirit  to  her  slanting  deck,  and  were 
there,  pleading  his  case  with  the  mistress  of  his 
heart  .  .  . 

Voices  approaching  brought  him  back  to  shore. 
He  turned,  resuming  his  mask  of  sanity,  the  better  to 
confer  with  the  owner  of  the  cottage  and  boats  —  a 
heavy,  keen-eyed  fellow,  ungracious  and  truculent  of 
ihabit,  and  chary  of  his  words ;  as  he  promptly  demon- 
strated. 

"  I'll  hire  your  boat,"  Kirkwood  told  him,  "  to  put 
me  aboard  that  brigantine,  off  to  leeward.  We  ought 
to  start  at  once." 

The  fisherman  shifted  his  quid  of  tobacco  from 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  205 

cheek  to  cheek,  grunted  inarticulately,  and  swung  de- 
liberately on  his  heel,  displaying  a  bull  neck  above  a 
pair  of  heavy  shoulders. 

"  Dirty  weather,"  he  croaked,  facing  back  from  his 
survey  of  the  eastern  skies  before  the  American  found , 
out  whether  or  not  he  should  resent  his  insolence. 

"  How  much? "  Kirkwood  demanded  curtly,  an- 
noyed. 

The  man  hesitated,  scowling  blackly  at  the  heel- 
ing vessel,  momentarily  increasing  her  distance  from 
shore.  Then  with  a  crafty  smile,  "  Two  pound',"  he 
declared. 

The  American  nodded.  "  Very  well,"  he  agreed 
simply.  "  Get  out  your  boat." 

The  fisherman  turned  away  to  shamble  noisily  over 
the  shingle,  huge  booted  heels  crunching,  toward  one 
of  the  dories.  To  this  he  set  his  shoulder,  shoving 
it  steadily  down,  the  beach  until  only  the  stern  was 
dry. 

Kirkwood  looked  back,  for  the  last  time,  up  the 
road  to  Sheerness.  Nothing  moved  upon  it.  He 
was  rid  of  Mrs.  Hallam,  if  face  to  face  with  a 
sterner  problem.  He  had  a  few  pence  over  ten  shil- 
lings in  his  pocket,  and  had  promised  to  pay  the 
man  four  times  as  much.  He  would  have  agreed  to 
ten  times  the  sum  demanded ;  for  the  boat  he  must  and 
would  have.  But  he  had  neglected  to  conclude  his 
bargain,  to  come  to  an  understanding  as  to  the 


206  THE  BLACK  BAG 

method  of  payment;  and  he  felt  more  than  a  little 
dubious  as  to  the  reception  the  fisherman  would  give 
his  proposition,  sound  as  he,  Kirkwood,  knew  it  to  be. 

In  the  background  the  cabby  loitered,  gnawed  by 
insatiable  curiosity. 

The  fisherman  turned,  calling  over  his  shoulder: 
"  If  ye'd  catch  yon  vessel,  come !  " 

With  one  final  twinge  of  doubt  —  the  task  of  pla- 
cating this  surly  dog  was  anything  but  inviting  — 
the  American  strode  to  the  boat  and  climbed  in,  tak- 
ing the  stern  seat.  The  fisherman  shoved  off,  wading 
out  thigh-deep  in  the  spiteful  waves,  then  threw  him- 
self in  over  the  gunwales  and  shipped  the  oars.  Bows 
swinging  offshore,  rocking  and  dancing,  the  dory  be- 
gan to  forge  slowly  toward  the  anchored  boat.  In 
their  faces  the  wind  beat  gustily,  and  small,  slapping 
waves,  breaking  against  the  sides,  showered  them  with 
fine  spray. 

In  time  the  dory  lay  alongside  the  cat-boat,  the 
fisherman  with  a  gnarled  hand  grasping  the  latter's 
gunwale  to  hold  the  two  together.  With  some  diffi- 
culty Kirkwood  transhipped  himself,  landing  asprawl 
in  the  cockpit,  amid  a  tangle  of  cordage  slippery 
with  scales.  The  skipper  followed,  with  clumsy  ex- 
pertness  bringing  the  dory's  painter  with  him  and 
hitching  it  to  a  ring-bolt  abaft  the  rudder-head. 
Then,  pausing  an  instant  to  stare  into  the  East  with 
somber  eyes,  he  shipped  the  tiller  and  bent  to  the 


DESPERATE  MEASURES  207 

halyards.  As  the  sail  rattled  up,  flapping  wildly, 
Kirkwood  marked  with  relief  —  for  it  meant  so  much 
time  saved  —  that  it  was  already  close  reefed. 

But  when  at  least  the  boom  was  thrashing  over- 
head and  the  halyards  had  been  made  fast  to  their 
cleats,  the  fisherman  again  stood  erect,  peering  dis- 
trustfully at  the  distant  wall  of  cloud. 

Then,  in  two  breaths :  "  Can't  do  it,"  he  decided ; 
"  not  at  the  price." 

"  Why  ?  "  Kirkwood  stared  despairingly  after  the 
brigantine,  that  was  already  drawn  far  ahead. 

"  Danger,"  growled  the  fellow,  "  —  wind." 

At  a  loss  completely,  Kirkwood  found  no  words. 
He  dropped  his  head,  considering. 

"  Not  at  the  price,"  the  sullen  voice  iterated ;  and 
he  looked  up  to  find  the  cunning  gaze  upon  him. 

"  How  much,  then?  " 

"  Five  poun'  I'll  have  —  no  less,  for  riskin'  my  life 
this  day." 

"  Impossible.     I  haven't  got  it." 

In  silence  the  man  unshipped  the  tiller  and  moved 
toward  the  cleats. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute." 

Kirkwood  unbuttoned  his  coat  and,  freeing  the 
chain  from  his  waistcoat  buttonholes,  removed  his 
watch.  .  .  .  As  well  abandon  them  altogether; 
he  had  designed  to  leave  them  as  security  for  the 
two  pounds,  and  had  delayed  stating  the  terms  only 


208  THE  BLACK  BAG 

for  fear  lest  they  be  refused.  Now,  too  late  as  ever, 
he  recognized  his  error.  But  surely,  he  thought,  it 
should  be  apparent  even  to  that  low  intelligence  that 
the  timepiece  alone  was  worth  more  than  the  boat 
itself. 

"  Will  you  take  these?  "  he  offered.  "  Take  and 
keep  them  —  only  set  me  aboard  that  ship  !  " 

Deliberately  the  fisherman  weighed  the  watch  and 
chain  in  his  broad,  hard  palm,  eyes  narrowing  to 
mere  slits  in  his  bronzed  mask. 

"  How  much?  "  he  asked  slowly. 

"  Eighty  pounds,  together ;  the  chain  alone  cost 
me  twenty." 

The  shifty,  covetous  eyes  ranged  from  the  treasure 
in  his  hand  to  the  threatening  east.  A  puff  of 
wind  caught  the  sail  and  sent  the  boom  athwartships, 
like  a  mighty  flail.  Both  men  ducked  instinctively, 
to  escape  a  braining. 

"  How  do  I  know?  "  objected  the  skipper. 

"  I'm  telling  you.  If  you've  got  eyes,  you  can 
see,"  retorted  Kirkwood  savagely,  seeing  that  he  had 
erred  in  telling  the  truth ;  the  amount  he  had  named 
was  too  great  to  be  grasped  at  once  by  this  crude, 
cupidous  brain. 

"  How  do  I  know?  "  the  man  repeated.  Neverthe- 
less he  dropped  watch  and  chain  into  his  pocket,  then 
with  a  meaning  grimace  extended  again  his  horny, 
greedy  palm. 


DESPERATE  MEASURES      209 

"What  .  .  .?" 

"  Hand  over  th'  two  pound'  and  we'll  go." 

"  I'll  see  you  damned  first !  " 

A  flush  of  rage  blinded  the  young  man.  The 
knowledge  that  the  Aletliea  was  minute  by  minute 
slipping  beyond  his  reach  seemed  to  madden  him. 
White-lipped  and  ominously  quiet  he  rose  from  his 
seat  on  the  combing,  as,  without  answer,  the  fisher- 
man, crawling  out  on  the  overhand,  began  to  haul  in 
the  dory. 

"  Ashore  ye  go,"  he  pronounced  his  ultimatum,  mo- 
tioning Kirkwood  to  enter  the  boat. 

The  American  turned,  looking  for  the  Alethea,  or 
for  the  vessel  that  he  believed  bore  that  name.  She 
was  nearing  the  light-ship  when  he  found  her,  and 
as  he  looked  a  squall  blurred  the  air  between  them, 
blotting  the  brigantine  out  with  a  smudge  of  rain. 
The  effect  was  as  if  she  had  vanished,  as  if  she  were 
for  ever  snatched  from  his  grasp ;  and  with  Dorothy 
aboard  her  —  Heaven  alone  knew  in  what  need  of 
him! 

Mute  and  blind  with  despair  and  wrath,  he  turned 
upon  the  man  and  caught  him  by  the  collar,  forc-j 
ing  him  out  over  the  lip  of  the  overhang.  They 
were  unevenly  matched,  Kirkwood  far  the  slighter,  but 
strength  came  to  him  in  the  crisis,  physical  strength 
and  address  such  as  he  had  not  dreamed  was  at  his 
command.  And  the  surprise  of  his  onslaught  proved 


210  THE  BLACK  BAG 

an  ally  of  unguessed  potency.  Before  he  himself 
knew  it  he  was  standing  on  the  overhang  and  had 
shifted  his  hold  to  seize  the  fellow  about  the  waist ; 
then,  lifting  him  clear  of  the  deck,  and  aided  by  a 
lurch  of  the  cat-boat,  he  cast  him  bodily  into  the 
dory.  The  man,  falling,  struck  his  head  against  one 
of  the  thwarts,  a  glancing  blow  that  stunned  him 
temporarily.  Kirkwood  himself  dropped  as  if  shot, 
a  trailing  reef -point  slapping  his  cheek  until  it  stung 
as  the  boom  thrashed  overhead.  It  was  as  close  a 
call  as  he  had  known;  the  knowledge  sickened  him  a 
little. 

Without  rising  he  worked  the  painter  loose  and 
cast  the  dory  adrift;  then  crawled  back  into  the  cock- 
pit. No  pang  of  compassion  disturbed  him  as  he 
abandoned  the  fisherman  to  the  mercy  of  the  sea; 
though  the  fellow  lay  still,  uncouthly  distorted,  in 
the  bottom  of  the  dory,  he  was  in  no  danger;  the 
wind  and  waves  together  would  carry  the  boat  ashore. 
For  that  matter,  the  man  was  even  then  re- 
covering, struggling  to  sit  up. 

Crouching  to  avoid  the  boom,  Kirkwood  went  for- 
ward to  the  bows,  and,  grasping  the  mooring  cable, 
drew  it  in,  slipping  back  into  the  cockpit  to  get  a 
stronger  purchase  with  his  feet.  It  was  a  struggle; 
the  boat  pulled  sluggishly  against  the  wind,  the  cable 
inching  in  jealously.  And  behind  him  he  could  hear 
A  voice  bellowing  inarticulate  menaces,  and  knew  that 


DESPERATE  MEASURES 

in  another  moment  the  fisherman  would  be  at  his  oars. 

Frantically  he  tugged  and  tore  at  the  slimy  rope, 
hauling  with  a  will  and  a  prayer.  It  gave  .more 
readily,  towards  the  end,  but  he  seemed  to  have  fought 
with  it  for  ages  when  at  last  the  anchor  tripped  and  he 
got  it  in. 

Immediately  he  leaped  back  to  the  stern,  fitted  in 
the  tiller,  and  seizing  the  mainsheet,  drew  the  boom 
in  till  the  wind  should  catch  in  the  canvas.  In  the 
dory  the  skipper,  bending  at  his  oars>  was  not  two 
yards  astern. 

He  was  hard  aboard  when,  the  sail  filling  with  a 
bang,  Kirkwood  pulled  the  tiller  up ;  and  the  cat-boat 
slid  away,  a  dozen  feet  separating  them  in  a  breath. 

A  yell  of  rage  boomed  down  the  wind,  but  he 
paid  no  heed.  Careless  alike  of  the  dangers  he  had 
passed  and  those  that  yawned  before  him,  he  trimmed 
the  sheet  and  stood  away  on  the  port  tack,  heading 
directly  for  the  Nore  Lightship. 


XI 

OFF    THE    NORE 

Kirkwood's  anger  cooled  apace;  at  worst  it  had 
been  a  flare  of  passion  —  incandescent.  It  was  sel- 
dom more.  His  brain  clearing,  the  temperature  of 
his  judgment  quickly  regained  its  mean,  and  he  saw 
his  changes  without  distortion,  weighed  them  without 
exaggeration. 

Leaning  against  the  combing,  feet  braced  upon 
the  slippery  and  treacherous  deck,  he  clung  to  tiller 
and  mainsheet  and  peered  ahead  with  anxious  eyes,  a 
pucker  of  daring  graven  deep  between  his  brows. 

A  mile  to  westward,  three  or  more  ahead,  he  could 
see  the  brigantine  standing  close  in  under  the  Essex 
shore.  At  times  she  was  invisible;  again  he  could 
catch  merely  the  glint  of  her  canvas,  white  against 
the  dark  loom  of  the  littoral,  toned  by  a  mist  of 
flying  spindrift.  He  strained  his  eyes,  watching  for 
the  chance  which  would  take  place  in  the  rake  of  her 
masts  and  sails,  when  she  should  come  about. 

For  the  longer  that  manoeuver  was  deferred,  the 
better  was  his  chance  of  attaining  his  object.  It 
was  a  forlorn  hope.  But  in  time  the  brigantine, 


OFF  THE  NORE  213 

to  escape  Maplin  Sands,  would  be  forced  to  tack  and 
stand  out  past  the  lightship,  the  wind  off  her  port 
bows.  Then  their  courses  would  intersect.  It  re- 
mained to  be  demonstrated  whether  the  cat-boat  was 
speedy  enough  to  arrive  at  this  point  of  contact 
in  advance  of,  or  simultaneously  with,  the  larger 
vessel.  Every  minute  that  the  putative  Aletliea  put 
off  coming  about  brought  the  cat-boat  nearer  that 
goal,  but  Ivirkwood  could  do  no  more  than  hope  and 
try  to  trust  in  the  fisherman's  implied  admission  that 
it  could  be  done.  It  was  all  in  the  boat  and  the  way, 
she  handled. 

He  watched  her  anxiously,  quick  to  approve  her 
merits  as  she  displayed  them.  He  had  sailed  small 
craft  before  —  frail  center-board  cat-boats,  handy 
and  swift,  built  to  serve  in  summer  winds  and  pro- 
tected waters:  never  such  an  one  as  this.  Yet  he 
liked  her. 

Deep  bosomed  she  was,  with  no  center-board,  de- 
pendent on  her  draught  and  heavy  keel  to  hold  her 
on  the  wind;  stanch  and  seaworthy,  sheathed  with 
stout  plank  and  ribbed  with  seasoned  timber,  designed 
to  keep  afloat  in  the  wickedest  weather  brewed  by  the 
foul-tempered  German  Ocean.  Withal  her  lines  were 
fine  and  clean ;  for  all  her  beam  she  was  calculated  to 
nose  narrowly  into  the  wind  and  make  a  pretty  pace 
as  well.  A  good  boat:  he  had  the  grace  to  give  the 
credit  to  his  luck. 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

Her  disposition  was  more  fully  disclosed  as  they 
drew  away  from  the  beach.  Inshore  with  shoaling 
water,  the  waves  had  been  choppy  and  spiteful  but 
lacking  force  of  weight.  Farther  out,  as  the  bottom 
fell  away,  the  rollers  became  more  uniform  and  power- 
ful ;  heavy  sweeping  seas  met  the  cat-boat,  from  their 
hollows  looming  mountainous  to  the  man  in  the  tiny 
cockpit ;  who  was  nevertheless  aware  that  to  a  steamer 
they  would  be  negligible. 

His  boat  breasted  them  gallantly,  toiling  sturdily 
up  the  steep  acclivities,  poising  breathlessly  on  foam- 
crested  summits  for  dizzy  instants,  then  plunging 
headlong  down  the  deep  green  swales ;  and  left  a  boil- 
ing wake  behind  her,: —  urging  ever  onward,  hugging 
the  wind  in  her  wisp  of  blood-red  sail,  and  boring  into 
it,  pulling  at  the  tiller  with  the  mettle  of  a  race-horse 
slugging  at  the  bit. 

Offshore,  too,  the  wind  stormed  with  added 
strength,  or,  possibly,  had  freshened.  For  minutes 
on  end  the  leeward  gunwales  would  run  green,  and 
now  and  again  the  screaming,  pelting  squalls  that 
scoured  the  estuary  would  heel  her  over  until  the 
water  cascaded  in  over  the  lee  combing,  and  the  rud- 
der, lifted  clear,  would  hang  idle  until,  smitten  by 
some  racing  billow,  the  tiller  would  be  all  but  torn 
from  Kirkwood's  hands.  Again  and  again  this  hap- 
pened; and  those  were  times  of  trembling.  But  al- 
ways the  cat-boat  righted,  shaking  the  clinging 


OFF  THE  NORE 

waters  from  her  and  swinging  her  stem  into  the  wind 
again ;  and  there  would  follow  an  abbreviated  breath- 
ing spell,  during  which  Kirkwood  was  at  liberty  to 
dash  the  salt  spray  from  his  eyes  and  search  the  wind- 
harried  waste  for  the  brigantine.  Sometimes  he 
found  her,  sometimes  not. 

Long  after  he  had  expected  her  to,  she  went  about 
and  they  began  to  close  in  upon  each  other.  He 
could  see  that  even  with  shortened  canvas  she  was 
staggering  drunkenly  under  the  fierce  impacts  of  the 
wind.  For  himself,  it  was  nip-and-tuck,  now,  and 
no  man  in  his  normal  sense  would  have  risked  a  six- 
pence on  the  boat's  chance  to  live  until  she  crossed  the 
brigantine's  bows. 

Time  out  of  reckoning  he  was  forced  to  kneel  in 
the  swimming  cockpit,  steering  with  one  hand,  using 
the  bailing-dish  with  the  other,  and  keeping  his  eyes 
religiously  turned  to  the  bellying  patch  of  sail.  It 
was  heartbreaking  toil;  he  began  reluctantly  to  con- 
cede that  it  could  not  last  much  longer.  And  if  he 
missed  the  brigantine  he  would  be  lost;  mortal 
strength  was  not  enough  to  stand  the  unending  strain 
upon  every  bone,  muscle  and  sinew,  required  to  keep 
the  boat  upon  her  course ;  though  for  a  time  it  might 
cope  with  and  solve  the  problems  presented  by  each 
new,  malignant  billow  and  each  furious,  howling 
squall,  the  end  inevitably  must  be  failure.  To  strug- 
gle on  would  be  but  to  postpone  the  certain  end 


216  THE  BLACK  BAG 

save  and  except  the  possibility  of  his  gain- 
ing the  brigantine  within  the  period  of  time  strictly 
and  briefly  limited  by  his  powers  of  endurance. 

Long  since  he  had  become  numb  with  cold  from 
incessant  drenchings  of  icy  spray,  that  piled  in  over 
tJie  windward  counter,  keeping  the  bottom  ankle-deep 
regardless  of  his  laborious  but  intermittent  efforts 
with  the  bailing  dish.  And  the  two,  brigantine  and 
cockle-shell,  were  drawing  together  with  appalling  de- 
liberation. 

A  dozen  times  he  was  on  the  point  of  surrender,  as 
often  plucked  up  hope;  as  the  minutes  wore  on  and 
he  kept  above  water,  he  began  to  believe  that 
if  he  could  stick  it  out  his  judgment  and  seamanship 
would  be  justified  .  .  .  though  human  ingenuity 
backed  by  generosity  could  by  no  means  contrive 
adequate  excuse  for  his  foolhardiness. 

But  that  was  aside,  something  irreparable.  Wan 
and  grim,  he  fought  it  out. 

But  that  his  voice  stuck  in  his  parched  throat,  he 
could  have  shouted  in  his  elation,  when  eventually  he 
gained  the  point  of  intersection  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
ahead  of  the  brigantine  and  got  sight  of  her  wind- 
ward freeboard  as,  most  slowly,  the  cat-boat  forged 
across  her  course. 

For  all  that,  the  moment  of  his  actual  triumph  was 
not  yet ;  he  had  still  to  carry  off  successfully  a  scheme 
that  for  sheer  audacity  of  conception  and  contempt 


OFF  THE  NORE  217 

for  danger,  transcended  all  that,   had  gone  before. 

Holding  the  cat-boat  on  for  a  time,  he  brought  her 
about  handsomely  a  little  way  beyond  the  brigantine' s 
course,  and  hung  in  the  eye  of  the  wind,  the  leach 
flapping  and  tightening  with  reports  like  rifle-shots, 
and  the  water  sloshing  about  his  calves  —  bail- 
ing-dish now  altogether  out  of  mind  —  while  he 
watched  the  onconu'ng  vessel,  his  eyes  glistening  with 
anticipation. 

She  was  footing  it  smartly,  the  brigantine  —  lying 
down  to  it  and  snoring  into  the  wind.  Beneath  her 
stem  waves  broke  in  snow-white  showers,  whiter  than 
the  canvas  of  her  bulging  jib  —  broke  and,  gnash- 
ing their  teeth  in  impotent  fury,  swirled  and  eddied 
down  her  sleek  dark  flanks.  Bobbing,  courtesying, 
she  plunged  onward,  shortening  the  interval  with 
mighty,  leaping  bounds.  On  her  bows,  with  each  in- 
stant, the  golden  letters  of  her  name  grew  larger  and 
more  legible  until  —  Aleiheal  —  he  could  read  it 
plain  beyond  dispute. 

Joy  welled  in  his  heart.  He  forgot  all  that  he 
had  undergone  in  the  prospect  of  what  he  proposed 
still  to  do  in  the  name  of  the  only  woman  the  world 
held  for  him.  Unquestioning  he  had  come  thus  far  in 
her  service;  unquestioning,  by  her  side,  he  was  pre- 
pared to  go  still  farther,  though  all  humanity  should 
single  her  out  with  accusing  fingers. 

They  were  watching  him,  aboard  the  brigantine; 


218  THE  BLACK  BAG 

he  could  see  a  line  of  heads  above  her  windward 
rail.  Perhaps  she  was  of  their  number.  He  waved 
an  audacious  hand.  Some  one  replied,  a  great  shout 
shattering  itself  unintelligibly  against  the  gale.  He 
neither  understood  nor  attempted  to  reply ;  his  every 
faculty  was  concentrated  on  the  supreme  moment  now 
at  hand. 

Calculating  the  instant  to  a  nicety,  he  paid  off  the 
sheet  and  pulled  up  the  tiller.  The  cat-boat  pivoted 
on  her  heel;  with  a  crack  her  sail  flapped  full  and 
rigid ;  then,  with  the  untempered  might  of  the  wind 
behind  her,  she  shot  like  an  arrow  under  the  brigan- 
tine's  bows,  so  close  that  the  bowsprit  of  the  latter 
first  threatened  to  impale  the  sail,  next,  the  bows 
plunging,  crashed  down  a  bare  two  feet  behind  the 
cat-boat's  stern. 

Working  in  a  frenzy  of  haste,  Kirkwood  jammed! 
the  tiller  hard  alee,  bringing  the  cat  about,  and, 
trimming  the  mainsheet  as  best  he  might,  found  him- 
self racing  under  the  brigantine's  leeward  quarter, — 
water  pouring  in  generously  over  the  cat's. 

Luffing,  he  edged  nearer,  handling  his  craft  as 
though  intending  to  ram  the  larger  vessel,  foot  by 
foot  shortening  the  little  interval.  When  it  was  four 
feet,  he  would  risk  the  jump;  he  crawled  out  on  the 
overhang,  crouching  on  his  toes,  one  hand  light  upon 
the  tiller,  the  other  touching  the  deck,  ready  .  .  . 
ready  .  .  . 


OFF  THE  NORE  219 

Abruptly  the  Aleihea  shut  off  the  wind;  the  sail 
flattened  and  the  cat  dropped  back.  In  a  second  the 
distance  had  doubled.  In  anguish  Kirkwood  uttered 
an  exceeding  bitter  cry.  Already  he  was  falling  far 
off  her  counter 

A  shout  reached  him.  He  was  dimly  conscious  of 
a  dark  object  hurtling  through  the  air.  Into  the 
cockpit,  splashing,  something  dropped  —  a  coil  of 
rope.  He  fell  forward  upon  it,  into  water  eighteen 
inches  deep ;  and  for  the  first  time  realized  that,  but 
for  that  line,  he  had  gone  to  his  drowning  in  another 
minute.  The  cat  was  sinking. 

As  he  scrambled  to  his  feet,  clutching  the  life- 
line, a  heavy  wave  washed  over  the  water-logged  craft 
and  left  it  all  but  submerged;  and  a  smart  tug  on 
the  rope  added  point  to  the  advice  which,  reaching 
his  ears  in  a  bellow  like  a  bull's,  penetrated  the  panic 
of  his  wits. 

"  Jump  !     Jump,  you  fool!  " 

In  an  instant  of  coherence  he  saw  that  the  brigan- 
tine  was  luffing;  none  the  less  much  of  the  line  had 
already  been  paid  out,  and  there  was  no  reckoning 
when  the  end  would  be  reached.  Without  time  to 
make  it  fast,  he  hitched  it  twice  round  his  waist 
and  chest,  once  round  an  arm,  and,  grasping  it  above 
his  head  to  ease  its  constriction  when  the  tug  should 
come,  leaped  on  the  combing  and  overboard.  A 
green  roaring  avalanche  swept  down  upon  him  and 


220  THE  BLACK  BAG 

the  luckless  cat-boat,  overwhelming  both  simultan- 
eously. 

The  agony  that  was  his  during  the  next  few  min- 
utes can  by  no  means  be  exaggerated.  With  such 
crises  the  human  mind  is  not  fitted  adequately  to  cope ; 
it  retains  no  record  of  the  supreme  moment  beyond 
a  vague  and  incoherent  impression  of  poignant,  soul- 
racking  suffering.  Kirkwood  underwent  a  prolonged 
interval  of  semi-sentience,  his  mind  dominated  and 
oppressed  by  a  deathly  fear  of  drowning  and  a  dead- 
ening sense  of  suffocation,  with  attendant  tortures 
as  of  being  broken  on  the  wheel  —  limb  rending 
from  limb ;  of  compression  of  his  ribs  that  threatened 
momentarily  to  crush  in  his  chest ;  of  a  world  a-welter 
with  dim  swirling  green  half-lights  alternating  with 
flashes  of  blinding  white;  of  thunderings  in  his  ears 
like  salvoes  from  a  thousand  cannon 

And    his    senses    were    blotted    out    in    blackness. 

Then  he  was  breathing  once  more,  the  keen  clean 
air  stabbing  his  lungs,  the  while  he  swam  unsup- 
ported in  an  ethereal  void  of  brilliance.  His  mouth 
was  full  of  something  that  burned,  a  liquid  hot,  acrid, 
and  stinging.  He  gulped,  swallowed,  slobbered, 
choked,  coughed,  attempted  to  sit  up,  was  aware  that 
he  was  the  focal  center  of  a  ring  of  glaring,  burning 
eyes,  like  eyes  of  ravening  beasts ;  and  fainted. 

His  next  conscious  impression  was  of  standing  up, 


OFF  THE  NORE  221 

supported  by  friendly  arms  on  either  side,  while  some- 
body was  asking  him  if  he  could  walk  a  step  or  two. 

He  lifted  his  head  and  let  it  fall  in  token  of  as- 
sent, mumbling  a  yes;  and  looked  round  him  with 
eyes  wherein  the  light  of  intelligence  burned  more 
clear  with  every  second.  By  degrees  he  catalogued 
and  comprehended  his  weirdly  altered  circumstances 
and  surroundings. 

He  was  partly  seated,  partly  held  up,  on  the  edge 
of  the  cabin  sky-light,  an  object  of  interest  to  some 
half-dozen  men,  seafaring  fellows  all,  by  their  habit, 
clustered  round  between  him  and  the  windward  rail. 
Of  their  number  one  stood  directly  before  him, 
dwarfing  his  companions  as  much  by  his  air  of  com- 
mand as  by  his  uncommon  height:  tall,  thin-faced 
and  sallow,  with  hollow  weather-worn  cheeks,  a  mouth 
like  a  crooked  gash  from  ear  to  ear,  and  eyes  like 
dying  coals,  with  which  he  looked  the  rescued  up  and 
down  in  one  grim,  semi-humorous,  semi-speculative 
glance.  In  hands  both  huge  and  red  he  fondled 
tenderly  a  squat  brandy  flask  whose  contents  had 
apparently  been  employed  as  a  first  aid  to  the 
drowning. 

As  Kirkwood's  gaze  encountered  his,  the  man 
smiled  sourly,  jerking  his  head  to  one  side  with  a 
singularly  derisive  air. 

"  Hi,  matey !  "  he  blustered.  "  'Ow  goes  it  now  ? 
Feelin'  'appier,  eigh  ?  " 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Some,  thank  you  .  .  .  more  like  a  drowned 
rat."  Kirkwood  eyed  him  sheepishly.  "  I  suppose 
you're  the  man  who  threw  me  that  line?  I'll  have 
to  wait  till  my  head  clears  up  before  I  can  thank  you 
properly." 

"  Don't  mention  it."  He  of  the  lantern  jaws 
stowed  the  bottle  away  with  jealous  care  in  one  of  his 
immense  coat  pockets,  and  seized  Kirkwood's  hand  in 
a  grasp  that  made  the  young  man  wince.  "  You're 
syfe  enough  now.  My  nyme's  Stryker,  Capt'n 
Wilyum  Stryker.  .  .  .  Wot's  the  row?  Lookin' 
for  a  friend?  "  he  demanded  suddenly,  as  Kirkwood's 
attention  wandered. 

For  the  memory  of  the  errand  that  had  brought 
him  into  the  hands  of  Captain  William  Stryker  had 
come  to  the  young  man  very  suddenly ;  and  his  eager 
eyes  were  swiftly  roving  not  alone  the  decks  but  the 
wide  world  besides,  for  sight  or  sign  of  his  heart's 
desire. 

After  luffing  to  pick  him  up,  the  brigantine  had 
been  again  pulled  off  on  the  port  tack.  The  fury  of 
the  gale  seemed  rather  to  have  waxed  than  waned, 
and  the  Aleihea  was  bending  low  under  the  relentless 
fury  of  its  blasts,  driving  hard,  with  leeward  chan- 
nels awash.  Under  her  port  counter,  a  mile  away, 
the  crimson  light-ship  wallowed  in  a  riot  of  breaking 
combers.  Sheerness  lay  abeam,  five  miles  or  more. 
Ahead  the  northeast  headland  of  the  Isle  of  Sheppey 


OFF  THE  NORE 

was  bulking  large  and  near.  The  cat-boat  had  van- 
ished. .  .  . 

More  important  still,  no  one  aboard  the  brigantine 
resembled  in  the  remotest  degree  either  of  the  Cal- 
endars, father  or  daughter,  or  even  Mulready,  the 
black-avised. 

"  I  sye,  're  you  lookin'  for  some  one  you  know  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  your  passengers.  I  presume  they're  be- 
low—?" 

"  Passengers ! " 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  group,  during  which  Kirk- 
wood  sought  Stryker's  eye  in  pitiful  pleading;  and 
Stryker  looked  round  him  blankly. 

"  Where's  Miss  Calendar  ?  "  the  young  man  de- 
manded sharply.  "  I  must  see  her  at  once !  " 

The  keen  and  deep-set  eyes  of  the  skipper  clouded 
as  they  returned  to  Kirkwood's  perturbed  counte- 
nance. "  Wot  're  you  talking  about?  "  he  demanded 
brusquely. 

"  I  must  see  Miss  Calendar,  or  Calendar  himself, 
or  Mulready."  Kirkwood  paused,  and,  getting  no 
reply,  grew  restive  under  Stryker's  inscrutable  re- 
gard. "  That's  why  I  came  aboard,"  he  amended, 
blind  to  the  absurdity  of  the  statement ;  "  to  see  —  er 
—  Calendar." 

"  Well     ...     I'm  damned !  " 

Stryker  managed  to  infuse  into  his  tone  a  deal  of 
suspicious  contempt. 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

"Why?"  insisted  Kirkwood,  nettled  but  still  un- 
comprehending. 

"  D'you  mean  to  tell  me  you  came  off  from  —  wher- 
ever in  'ell  you  did  come  from  —  intendin'  to  board 
this  wessel  and  find  a  party  nymed  Calendar?  " 

"  Certainly  I  did.     Why  —  ?  " 

"  Well !  "  cried  Mr.  Stryker,  rubbing  his  hands  to- 
gether with  an  air  oppressively  obsequious,  "  I'm 
sorry  to  hin-form  you  you've  come  to  the  wrong 
shop,  sir ;  we  don't  stock  no  Calendars.  We're  in  the 
'ardware  line,  we  are.  You  might  try  next  door,  or 
I  dessay  you'll  find  what  you  want  at  the  stytioner's, 
round  the  corner." 

A  giggle  from  his  audience  stimulated  him.  "  If," 
he  continued  acidly,  "  I'd  a-guessed  you  was  such  a 
damn'  fool,  blimmy  if  I  wouldn't  've  let  you 
drownd ! " 

Staggered,  Kirkwood  bore  his  sarcastic  truculence 
without  resentment. 

"  Calendar,"  he  stammered,  trying  to  explain, 
"  Calendar  said  — " 

•'  "  I  carn't  'elp  wot  Calendar  said.  Mebbe  'e  did 
myke  an  engygement  with  you,  an'  you've  gone  and 
went  an*  forgot  the  dyte.  Mebbe  it's  larst  year's 
calendar  you're  thinkin'  of.  You  Johnny "  ( to  a 
lout  of  a  boy  in  the  group  of  seamen),  "  you  run 
an'  fetch  this  gentleman  Whitaker's  for  Nineteen-six. 
Look  sharp,  now !  " 


OFF  THE  NORE  225 

"  But — !  "  With  an  effort  Kirkwood  mustered 
up  a  show  of  dignity.  "  Am  I  to  understand,"  he 
said,  as  calmly  as  he  could,  "  that  you  deny  know- 
ing George  B.  Calendar  and  his  daughter  Dorothy 
and—" 

"  I  don't  'ave  to.  Listen  to  me,  young  man." 
For  the  time  the  fellow  discarded  his  clumsy  facetious- 
ness.  "  I'm  Wilyum  Stryker,  Capt'n  Stryker,  mars- 
ter  and  'arf-owner  of  this  wessel,  and  wot  I  says 
'ere  is  law.  We  don't  carry  no  passengers.  D'ye 
understand  me?" — aggressively.  "There  ain't  no 
pusson  nymed  Calendar  aboard  the  Allytheer,  an' 
never  was,  an'  never  will  be !  " 

"  What  name  did  you  say  ?  "  Kirkwood  inquired. 

"  This  ship?  The  Allytheer;  registered  from  Liv- 
erpool; bound  from  London  to  Hantwerp,  in  cargo. 
Any  think  else?  " 

Kirkwood  shook  his  head,  turning  to  scan  the  sea- 
scape with  a  gloomy  gaze.  As  he  did  so,  and  re- 
marked how  close  upon  the  Sheppey  headland  the 
brigantine  had  drawn,  the  order  was  given  to  go 
about.  For  the  moment  he  was  left  alone,  wretchedly 
wet,  shivering,  wan  and  shrunken  visibly  with  the 
knowledge  that  he  had  dared  greatly  for  nothing. 
But  for  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  before  Stryker 
and  his  crew,  the  young  man  felt  that  he  could  gladly 
have  broken  down  And  wept  for  sheer  vexation  and 
disappointment. 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

Smartly  the  brigantine  luffed  and  wore  about,  heel- 
ing deep  as  she  spun  away  on  the  starboard  tack. 

Kirkwood  staggered  round  the  skylight  to  the 
windward  rail.  From  this  position,  looking  forward, 
he  could  see  that  they  were  heading  for  the  open  sea, 
Foulness  low  over  the  port  quarter,  naught  before 
them  but  a  brawling  waste  of  leaden-green  and  dirty 
white.  Far  out  one  of  the  sidewheel  boats  of  the 
Queensborough-Antwerp  line  was  heading  directly 
into  the  wind  and  making  heavy  weather  of  it. 

Some  little  while  later,  Stryker  again  approached 
him,  perhaps  swayed  by  an  unaccustomed  impulse  of 
compassion;  which,  however,  he  artfully  concealed. 
Blandly  ironic,  returning  to  his  impersonation  of  the 
shopkeeper,  "  Nothink  else  we  can  show  you,  sir?  " 
he  inquired. 

"  I  presume  you  couldn't  put  me  ashore?  "  Kirk- 
wood  replied  ingenuously. 

In  supreme  disgust  the  captain  showed  him  his 
back.  "  'Ere,  you ! "  he  called  to  one  of  the  crew. 
"  Tyke  this  awye  —  tyke  'im  below  and  put  'im  to 
bed;  give  'im  a  drink  and  dry  'is  clo's.  Mebbe  Vll 
be  better  when  'e  wykes  up.  'E  don't  talk  sense  now, 
that's  sure.  If  you  arsk  me,  I  sye  Vs  balmy  and  no 
'ope  for  'im." 


XII 

PICARESO.UE    PASSAGES 

Contradictory  to  the  hopeful  prognosis  of  Captain 
Stryker,  his  unaccredited  passenger  was  not  "  better  " 
when,  after  a  period  of  oblivious  rest  indefinite  in 
duration,  he  awoke.  His  subsequent  assumption  of 
listless  resignation,  of  pacific  acquiescence  in  the  dic- 
tates of  his  destiny,  was  purely  deceptive  —  thin  ice 
of  despair  over  profound  depths  of  exasperated  re- 
bellion. 

Blank  darkness  enveloped  him  when  first  he  opened 
eyes  to  wonder.  Then  gradually  as  he  stared,  piec- 
ing together  unassorted  memories  and  striving  to 
quicken  drowsy  wits,  he  became  aware  of  a  glimmer 
that  waxed  and  waned,  a  bar  of  pale  bluish  light 
striking  across  the  gloom  above  his  couch ;  and  by 
dint  of  puzzling  divined  that  this  had  access  by  a 
port.  Turning  his  head  upon  a  stiff  and  unyielding 
pillow,  he  could  discern  a  streak  of  saffron  light  lin- 
ing the  sill  of  a  doorway,  near  by  his  side.  The  one 
phenomenon  taken  with  the  other  confirmed  a  there- 
tofore somewhat  hazy  impression  that  his  dreams  were 
dignified  by  a  foundation  of  fact;  that,  in  brief,  he 

227 


228  THE  BLACK  BAG 

was  occupying  a  cabin-bunk  aboard  the  good  ship 
Alethea. 

Overhead,  on  the  deck,  a  heavy  thumping  of  hurry- 
ing feet  awoke  him  to  keener  perceptiveness. 

Judging  from  the  incessant  rolling  and  pitching  of 
the  brigantine,  the  crashing  thunder  of  seas  upon  her 
sides,  the  eldrich  shrieking  of  the  gale,  as  well  as  from 
the  chorused  groans  and  plaints  of  each  individual 
bolt  and  timber  in  the  frail  fabric  that  housed  his  for- 
tunes, the  wind  had  strengthened  materially  during 
his  hours  of  f orgetf  ulness  —  however  many  the  latter 
might  have  been. 

He  believed,  however,  that  he  had  slept  long,  deeply 
and  exhaustively.  He  felt  now  a  little  emaciated 
mentally  and  somewhat  absent-bodied  —  so  he  put  it 
to  himself.  A  numb  languor,  not  unpleasant,  held 
him  passively  supine,  the  while  he  gave  himself  over 
to  speculative  thought. 

A  wild  night,  certainly;  probably,  by  that  time, 
the  little  vessel  was  in  the  middle  of  the  North  Sea 
,.     .     .     bound  for  Antwerp! 
;     "  Oh-h,"  said  Kirkwood  vindictively,  "  hell!  " 

So  he  was  bound  for  Antwerp !  The  first  color  of 
resentment  ebbing  from  his  thoughts  left  him  rather 
interested  than  excited  by  the  prospect.  He  found 
that  he  was  neither  pleased  nor  displeased.  He  pre- 
sumed that  it  would  be  no  more  difficult  to  raise  money 
on  personal  belongings  in  Antwerp  than  anywhere 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  229 

else ;  it  has  been  observed  that  the  first  flower  of  civi- 
lization is  the  rum-blossom,  the  next,  the  conventional- 
ized fleur-de-lis  of  the  money-lender.  There  would 
be  pawnshops,  then,  in  Antwerp ;  and  Kirkwood  was 
confident  that  the  sale  or  pledge  of  his  signet-ring, 
scarf-pin,  match-box  and  cigar-case,  would  provide 
him  with  money  enough  for  a  return  to  London,  by 
third-class,  at  the  worst.  There  .  .  .  well,  all 
events  were  on  the  knees  of  the  gods ;  he'd  squirm  out 
of  his  troubles,  somehow.  As  for  the  other  matter, 
the  Calendar  affair,  he  presumed  he  was  well  rid  of 
it, —  with  a  sigh  of  regret.  It  had  been  a  most  entic- 
ing mystery,  you  know ;  and  the  woman  in  the  case 
was  extraordinary,  to  say  the  least 

The  memory  of  Dorothy  Calendar  made  him  sigh 
again,  this  time  more  violently:  a  sigh  that  was  own 
brother  to  (or  at  any  rate  descended  in  a  direct  line 
from)  the  furnace  sigh  of  the  lover  described  by  the 
melancholy  Jaques.  And  he  sat  up,  bumped  his 
head,  groped  round  until  his  hand  fell  upon  a  door- 
knob, opened  the  door,  and  looked  out  into  the  blowsy 
emptiness  of  the  ship's  cabin  proper,  whose  gloomy 
confines  were  made  visible  only  by  the  rays  of  a  dingy 
and  smoky  lamp  swinging  violently  in  gimbals  from 
a  deck-beam. 

Kirkwood's  clothing,  now  rough-dried  and  warped 
wretchedly  out  of  shape,  had  been  thrown  carelessly 
on  a  transom  near  the  door.  He  got  up,  collected 


230  THE  BLACK  BAG 

them,  and  returning  to  his  berth,  dressed  at  leisure, 
thinking  heavily,  disgruntled  —  in  a  humor  as  evil 
as  the  after-taste  of  bad  brandy  in  his  mouth. 

When  dressed  he  went  out  into  the  cabin,  closing 
the  door  upon  his  berth,  and  for  lack  of  anything  bet- 
ter to  do,  seated  himself  on  the  thwartships  transom, 
against  the  forward  bulkhead,  behind  the  table. 
Above  his  head  a  chronometer  ticked  steadily  and 
loudly,  and,  being  consulted,  told  him  that  the  time 
of  day  was  twenty  minutes  to  four;  which  meant  that 
he  had  slept  away  some  eighteen  or  twenty  hours. 
That  was  a  solid  spell  of  a  rest,  when  he  came  to  think 
•of  it,  even  allowing  that  he  had  been  unusually  and 
pardonably  fatigued  when  conducted  to  his  berth. 
He  felt  stronger  now,  and  bright  enough  —  and 
enormously  hungry  into  the  bargain. 

Abstractedly,  heedless  of  the  fact  that  his  tobacco 
would  be  water-soaked  and  ruined,  he  fumbled  in  his 
pockets  for  pipe  and  pouch,  thinking  to  soothe  the 
pangs  of  hunger  against  breakfast-time;  which  was 
probably  two  hours  and  a  quarter  ahead.  But  his 
pockets  were  empty  —  every  one  of  them.  He  as- 
similated this  discovery  in  patience  and  cast  an  eye 
about  the  room,  to  locate,  if  possible,  the  missing 
property.  But  naught  of  his  was  visible.  So  he 
rose  and  began  a  more  painstaking  search. 

The  cabin  was  at  once  tiny,  low-ceiled,  and  de- 
pressingly  gloomy.  Its  furniture  consisted  entirely 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  231 

in  a  chair  or  two,  supplementing  the  transoms  and 
lockers  as  resting-places,  and  a  center-table  covered 
with  a  cloth  of  turkey-red,  whose  original  aggressive- 
ness had  been  darkly  moderated  by  libations  of  liquids, 
principally  black  coffee,  and  burnt  offerings  of  grease 
and  tobacco-ash.  Aside  from  the  companion-way 
to  the  deck,  four  doors  opened  into  the  room,  two 
probably  giving  upon  the  captain's  and  the  mate's 
quarters,  the  others  on  pseudo  state-rooms  —  one  of 
which  he  had  j  ust  vacated  —  closets  large  enough  to 
contain  a  small  bunk  and  naught  beside.  The  bulk- 
heads and  partitions  were  badly  broken  out  with  a 
rash  of  pictures  from  illustrated  papers,  mostly 
offensive.  Kirkwood  was  interested  to  read  a  half- 
column  clipping  from  a  New  York  yellow  journal,  de- 
scriptive of  the  antics  of  a  drunken  British  sailor 
who  had  somehow  found  his  way  to  the  bar-room  of 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel;  the  paragraph  exploiting 
the  fact  that  it  had  required  four  policemen  in  addi- 
tion to  the  corps,  of  porters  to  subdue  him,  was 
strongly  underscored  in  red  ink;  and  the  news-story 
wound  up  with  the  information  that  in  police  court  the 
man  had  given  his  name  as  William  Stranger  and 
cheerfully  had  paid  a  fine  of  ten  dollars,  alleging  his 
entertainment  to  have  been  cheap  at  the  price. 

While  Kirkwood  was  employed  in  perusing  this  illu- 
minating anecdote,  eight  be)ls  sounded,  and,  from 
the  commotion  overhead,  the  watch  changed.  A 


\ 


232  THE  BLACK  BAG 

little  later  the  companion-way  door  slammed  open 
and  shut,  and  Captain  Stryker  —  or  Stranger ;  which- 
ever you  please  —  fell  down,  rather  than  descended, 
the  steps. 

Without  attention  to  the  American  he  rolled  into 
the  mate's  room  and  roused  that  personage.  Kirk- 
wood  heard  that  the  name  of  the  second-in-command 
was  'Obbs,  as  well  as  that  he  occupied  the  star- 
board state-room  aft.  After  a  brief  exchange  of 
comment  and  instruction,  Mr.  'Obbs  appeared  in  the 
shape  of  a  walking  pillar  of  oil-skins  capped  by  a 
sou'wester,  and  went  on  deck ;  Stryker,  following  him 
out  of  the  state-room,  shed  his  own  oilers  in  a  clammy 
heap  upon  the  floor,  opened  a  locker  from  which  he 
brought  forth  a  bottle  and  a  dirty  glass,  and,  turn- 
ing toward  the  table,  for  the  first  time  became  sensible 
of  Kirkwood's  presence. 

"  Ow,  there  you  are,  eigh,  little  bright-eyes ! "  he 
exclaimed  with  surprised  animation. 

"  Good  morning,  Captain  Stryker,"  said  Kirkwood, 
rising.  "  I  want  to  tell  you  — " 

But  Stryker  waved  one  great  red  paw  impatiently, 
with  the  effect  of  sweeping  aside  and  casting  into  the 
discard  Kirkwood's  intended  speech  of  thanks ;  nor 
would  he  hear  him  further. 

"  Did  you  'ave  a  nice  little  nap  ?  "  he  interrupted. 
"  Come  up  bright  and  smilin',  eigh?  Now  I  guess  " 
—  the  emphasis  made  it  clear  that  the  captain 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  233 

believed  himself  to  be  employing  an  Americanism; 
and  so  successful  was  he  in  his  own  esteem  that  he 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  improve  upon  the 
imitation  • — "  Na-ow  I  guess  yeou're  abaout  right 
ready,  ben't  ye,  to  hev  a  drink,  sonny?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Kirkwood,  smiling  toler- 
antly. "  I've  got  any  amount  of  appetite  .  .  ." 

"  'Ave  you,  now  ?  "  Stryker  dropped  his  mimicry 
and  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  Breakfast,"  he  an- 
nounced, "  will  be  served  in  the  myne  dinin'  saloon  at 
eyght  a.  m.  Passingers  is  requested  not  to  be  lyte  at 
tyble." 

Depositing  the  bottle  on  the  said  table,  the  cap- 
tain searched  until  he  found  another  glass  for  Kirk- 
wood,  and  sat  down. 

"  Do  you  good,"  he  insinuated,  pushing  the  bottle 
gently  over. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  reiterated  Kirkwood  shortly,  a 
little  annoyed. 

Stryker  seized  his  own  glass,  poured  out  a  strong 
man's  dose  of  the  fiery  concoction,  gulped  it  down, 
and  sighed.  Then,  with  a  glance  at  the  American's 
woebegone  countenance  (Kirkwood  was  contemplating 
a  four-hour  wait  for  breakfast,  and,  consequently, 
looking  as  if  he  had  lost  his  last  friend),  the  captain 
bent  over,  placing  both  hands  palm  down  before  him 
and  wagging  his  head  earnestly. 

"  Please,"  he  implored, — "  Please  don't  let  me  hin- 


234  THE  BLACK  BAG 

terrupt ;"  and  filled  his  pipe,  pretending  a  pensive 
detachment  from  his  company. 

The  fumes  of  burning  shag  sharpened  the  tooth  of 
desire.  Kirkwood  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could,  then 
surrendered  with  an :  "  If  you've  got  any  more  of 
that  tobacco,  Captain,  I'd  be  glad  of  a  pipe." 

An  intensely  contemplative  expression  crept  into 
the  captain's  small  blue  eyes. 

"  I  only  got  one  other  pyper  of  this  'ere  'baccy," 
he  announced  at  length,  "  and  I  carn't  get  no  more 
till  I  gets  'ome.  I  simply  couldn't  part  with  it 
hunder  'arf  a  quid." 

Kirkwood  settled  back  with  a  hopeless  lift  of  his 
shoulders.  Abstractedly  Stryker  puffed  the  smoke  his 
way  until  he  could  endure  the  deprivation  no  longer. 

"  I  had  about  ten  shillings  in  my  pocket  when  I 
came  aboard,  captain,  and  ...  a  few  other  arti- 
cles." 

"  Ow,  yes ;  so  you  'ad,  now  you  mention  it." 

Stryker  rose,  ambled  into  his  room,  and  returned 
with  Kirkwood's  possessions  and  a  fresh  paper  of 
shag.  While  the  young  man  was  hastily  filling,  light- 
ing, and  inhaling  the  first  strangling  but  delectable 
whiff,  the  captain  solemnly  counted  into  his  own  palm 
all  the  loose  change  except  three  large  pennies.  The 
latter  he  shoved  over  to  Kirkwood  in  company  with 
a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  articles,  which  the  Amer- 
ican picked  up  piece  by  piece  anp!  began  to  bestow 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  235 

about  liis  clothing.     When  through,  he  sat  back,  trou- 
bled and  disgusted.     Stryker  met  his  regard  blandly. 

"  Anything  I  can  do?  "  he  inquired,  in  suave  con- 
cern. 

"  Why  .  .  .  there  leas  a  black  pearl  scarf- 
pin  — " 

"  W'y,  don't  you  remember?  You  gave  that  to 
me,  'count  of  me  'avin  syved  yer  life.  'Twas  me 
throwed  you  that  line,  you  know." 

"  Oh,"  commented  Kirkwood  briefly.  The  pin  had 
been  among  the  most  valuable  and  cherished  of  his 
belongings. 

"  Yes,"  nodded  the  captain  in  reminiscence.  "  You 
don't  remember?  Likely  'twas  the  brandy  singing 
in  yer  'ead.  You  pushes  it  into  my  'ands, —  al- 
most weepin',  you  was, —  and  sez,  sez  you,  *  Stryker,' 
you  sez, '  tyke  this  in  triflin'  toking  of  my  gratichood ; 
I  wouldn't  hinsult  you,'  you  sez,  '  by  hofferin'  you 
money,  but  this  I  can  insist  on  yer  acceptin',  and 
no  refusal,'  says  you." 

"  Oh,"  repeated  Kirkwood. 

"  If  I  for  a  ninstant  thought  you  wasn't  sober  when 
you  done  it  ...  But  no ;  you're  a  gent  if  there 
ever  was  one,  and  I'm  not  the  man  to  offend  you." 

"  Oh,  indeed." 

The  captain  let  the  implication  pass,  perhaps  on 
the  consideration  that  he  could  afford  to  ignore  it; 
and  said  no  more.  The  pause  held  for  several 


236  THE  BLACK  BAG 

minutes,  Kirkwood  having  fallen  into  a  mood  of 
grave  distraction.  Finally  Captain  Stryker  thought- 
fully measured  out  a  second  drink,  limited  only  by 
the  capacity  of  the  tumbler,  engulfed  it  noisily,  and 
got  up. 

"  Guess  I'll  be  turnin'  in,"  he  volunteered  affably, 
yawning  and  stretching. 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  service 
."  began  Kirkwood. 

"  Yes  ?  "•  —  with  the  rising  inflection  of  mockery. 

Kirkwood  quietly  produced  his  cigar-case,  a  gold 
match-box,  gold  card-case,  and  slipped  a  signet  ring 
from  his  finger.  "Will  you  buy  these?"  he  asked. 
"  Or  will  you  lend  me  five  pounds  and  hold  them  as 
security  ?  " 

Stryker  examined  the  collection  with  exaggerated 
interest  strongly  tinctured  with  mistrust.  "  I'll  buy 
'em,"  he  offered  eventually,  looking  up. 

"  That's  kind  of  you  — " 

"  Ow,  they  ain't  much  use  to  me,  but  Bill  Stryker's 
allus  willin'  to  accommodate  a  friend.  .  .  .  Four 
quid,  you  said  ?  " 

"Five     .     .      ." 

"  They  ain't  wuth  over  four  to  me." 

"  Very  well ;  make  it  four,"  Kirkwood  assented 
contemptuously. 

The  captain  swept  the  articles  into  one  capacious 
fist,  pivoted  on  one  heel  at  the  peril  of  his  neck,  and 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  237 

lumbered  unsteadily  off  to  his  room.  Pausing  at  the 
door  he  turned  back  in  inquiry. 

"  I  sye,  'ow  did  you  come  to  get  the  impression 
there  was  a  party  named  Almanack  aboard  this  wes- 
sel?" 

"Calendar—" 

"  'Ave  it  yer  own  wye,"  Stryker  conceded  grace- 
fully. 

"There  isn't,  is  there?" 

"  You  'eard  me." 

"  Then,"  said  Kirkwood  sweetly,  "  I'm  sure  you 
wouldn't  be  interested." 

The  captain  pondered  this  at  leisure.  "  You 
seemed  pretty  keen  abaht  seein'  'im,"  he  remarked 
conclusively. 

"  I  was." 

"  Seems  to  me  I  did  'ear  the  nyme  sumw'eres 
nfore."  The  captain  appeared  to  wrestle  with  an 
obdurate  memory.  "  Ow ! "  he  triumphed.  "  I 
know.  'E  was  a  chap  up  Manchester  wye.  Keeper 
in  a  loonatic  asylum,  'e  was.  'That  yer  party?  " 

"  No,"  said  Kirkwood  wearily. 

"  I  didn't  know  but  mebbe  'twas.  Excuse  me. 
'Thought  as  'ow  mebbe  you'd  escyped  from  'is  tender 
care,  but,  fmdin'  the  world  cold,  chynged  yer  mind 
and  wanted  to  gow  back." 

Without  waiting  for  a  repty  he  lurched  into  his 
room  and  banged  the  door  to.  Kirkwood,  divided  be- 


2S8  THE  BLACK  BAG 

tween  amusement  and  irritation,  heard  him  stumbling 
about  for  some  time ;  and  then  a  hush  fell,  grateful 
enough  while  it  lasted ;  which  was  not  long.  For  no 
sooner  did  the  captain  sleep  than  a  penetrating  snore 
,  added  itself  unto  the  cacophony  of  waves  and  wind 
and  tortured  ship. 

Kirkwood,  comforted  at  first  by  the  blessed  tobacco, 
lapsed  insensibly  into  dreary  meditations.  Coming 
after  the  swift  movement  and  sustained  excitement  of 
the  eighteen  hours  preceding  his  long  sleep,  the 
monotony  of  shipboard  confinement  seemed  irksome  to 
a  maddening  degree.  There  was  absolutely  nothing 
he  could  discover  to  occupy  his  mind.  If  there  were 
books  aboard,  none  was  in  evidence;  beyond  the  re- 
port of  Mr.  Stranger's  Manhattan  night's  entertain- 
ment the  walls  were  devoid  of  reading  matter;  and  a 
round  of  the  picture  gallery  proved  a  diversion  weari- 
ful enough  when  not  purely  revolting. 

Wherefore  Mr.  Kirkwood  stretched  himself  out  on 
the  transom  and  smoked  and  reviewed  his  adventures 
in  detail  and  seriatim,  and  was  by  turns  indignant, 
sore,  anxious  on  his  own  account  as  well  as  on  Dor- 
othy's, and  out  of  all  patience  with  himself.  Mysti- 
fied he  remained  throughout,  and  the  edge  of  his 
curiosity  held  as  keen  as  ever,  you  may  believe. 

Consistently  the  affair  presented  itself  to  his  fancy 
in  the  guise  of  a  puzzle-picture,  which,  though  you 
study  it  never  so  diligently,  remains  incomprehensi- 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  239 

ble,  until  by  chance  you  view  it  from  an  unexpected 
angle,  when  it  reveals  itself  intelligibly.  It  had  not 
yet  been  his  good  fortune  to  see  it  from  the  right  view- 
point. To  hold  the  metaphor,  he  walked  endless  cir- 
cles round  it,  patiently  seeking,  but  ever  failing  to 
find  the  proper  perspective.  .  .  .  Each  inci- 
dent, however  insignificant,  in  connection  with  it,  he 
handled  over  and  over,  examining  its  every  facet, 
bright  or  dull,  as  an  expert  might  inspect  a  clever 
imitation  of  a  diamond ;  and  like  a  perfect  imitation 
it  defied  analysis. 

Of  one  or  two  things  he  was  convinced;  for  one, 
that  Stryker  was  a  liar  worthy  of  classification  with 
Calendar  and  Mrs.  Hallam.  Kirkwood  had  not  only 
the  testimony  of  his  sense  to  assure  him  that  the  ship's 
name,  Alethea  (not  a  common  one,  by  the  bye),  had 
been  mentioned  by  both  Calendar  and  Mulready  dur- 
ing their  altercation  on  Bermondsey  Old  Stairs,  but 
he  had  the  confirmatory  testimony  of  the  sleepy 
waterman,  William,  who  had  directed  Old  Bob  and 
Young  William  to  the  anchorage  off  Bow  Creek. 
That  there  should  have  been  two  vessels  of  the  same 
unusual  name  at  one  and  the  same  time  in  the  Port 
of  London,  was  a  coincidence  too  preposterous  alto- 
gether to  find  place  in  his  calculations. 

His  second  impregnable  conclusion  was  that  those 
whom  he  sought  had  boarded  the  Alethea,  but  had 
left  her  before  she  tripped  her  anchor.  That  they 


240  THE  BLACK  BAG 

were  not  stowed  away  aboard  her  seemed  unquestion- 
able. The  brigantine  was  hardly  large  enough  for 
the  presence  of  three  persons  aboard  her  to  be  long 
kept  a  secret  from  an  inquisitive  fourth, —  unless, 
indeed,  they  lay  in  hiding  in  the  hold;  for  which, 
once  the  ship  got  under  way,  there  could  be  scant 
excuse.  And  Kirkwood  did  not  believe  himself  a 
person  of  sufficient  importance  in  Calendar's  eyes,  to 
make  that  worthy  endure  the  discomforts  of  a  'tween- 
decks  imprisonment  throughout  the  voyage,  even  to 
escape  recognition. 

With  every  second,  then,  he  was  traveling  farther 
from  her  to  whose  aid  he  had  rushed,  impelled  by  mo- 
tives so  hot-headed,  so  innately  chivalric,  so  unthink- 
ingly gallant,  so  exceptionally  idiotic! 

Idiot !  Kirkwood  groaned  with  despair  of  his  ina- 
bility to  fathom  the  abyss  of  his  self-contempt.  There 
seemed  to  be  positively  no  excuse  for  him.  Stryker 
had  befriended  him  indeed,  had  he  permitted  him  to 
drown.  Yet  he  had  acted  for  the  best,  as  he  saw  it. 
The  fault  lay  in  himself:  an  admirable  fault,  that 
of  harboring  and  nurturing  generous  and  compas- 
sionate instincts.  But,  of  course,  Kirkwood  couldn't 
see  it  that  way. 

"  What  else  could  I  do  ? "  he  defended  himself 
against  the  indictment  of  common  sense.  "  I 
couldn't  leave  her  to  the  mercies  of  that  set  of  rogues ! 
.  .  .  And  Heaven  knows  I  was  given  every  reason 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES 

to  believe  she  would  be  aboard  this  ship!  Why,  she 
herself  told  me  that  she  was  sailing.  .  !  " 

Heaven  knew,  too,  that  this  folly  of  his  had  cost 
him  a  pretty  penny,  first  and  last.  His  watch  was 
gone  beyond  recovery,  his  homeward  passage  for- 
feited ;  he  no  longer  harbored  illusions  as  to  the 
steamship  company  presenting  him  with  another  berth 
in  lieu  of  that  called  for  by  that  water-soaked  slip  of 
paper  then  in  his  pocket  —  courtesy  of  Stryker.  He 
had  sold  for  a  pittance,  a  tithe  of  its  value,  his  per- 
sonal jewelry,  and  had  spent  every  penny  he  could  call 
his  own.  With  the  money  Stryker  was  to  give  him  he 
would  be  able  to  get  back  to  London  and  his  third- 
rate  hostelry,  but  not  with  enough  over  to  pay  that 
one  week's  room-rent,  or  ... 

"  Oh,  the  devil !  "  he  groaned,  head  in  hands. 

The  future  loomed  wrapped  in  unspeakable  dark- 
ness, lightened  by  no  least  ray  of  hope.  It  had  been 
bad  enough  to  lose  a  comfortable  living  through  a 
gigantic  convulsion  of  Nature;  but  to  think  that  he 
had  lost  all  else  through  his  own  egregious  folly,  to 
find  himself  reduced  to  the  kennels ! 

Sc  Care  found  him  again  in  those  weary  hours, — 
came  and  sat  by  his  side,  slipping  a  grisly  hand  in  his 
and  tightening  its  grip  until  he  could  have  cried  out 
with  the  torment  of  it;  the  while  whispering  insidi- 
ously subtile,  evil  things  in  his  ear.  And  he  had  not 
even  Hope  to  comfort  him ;  at  any  previous  stage 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

he  had  been  able  to  distil  a  sort  of  bitter-sweet  sat- 
isfaction from  the  thought  that  he  was  suffering  for 
the  love  of  his  life.  But  now  —  now  Dorothy  was 
lost,  gone  like  the  glamour  of  Romance  in  the  search- 
ing light  of  day. 

Stryker,  emerging  from  his  room  for  breakfast, 
found  the  passenger  with  a  hostile  look  in  his  eye  and 
a  jaw  set  in  ugly  fashion.  His  eyes,  too,  were  the 
abiding-place  of  smoldering  devils ;  and  the  captain, 
recognizing  them,  considerately  forbore  to  stir  them 
up  with  any  untimely  pleasantries.  To  be  sure,  he 
was  autocrat  in  his  own  ship,  and  Kirkwood's  stand- 
ing aboard  was  nil;  but  then  there  was  just  enough 
yellow  in  the  complexion  of  Stryker's  soul  to  incline 
him  to  sidestep  trouble  whenever  feasible.  And  be- 
sides, he  entertained  dark  suspicions  of  his  guest  — • 
suspicions  he  scarce  dared  voice  even  to  his  inmost 
heart. 

The  morning  meal,  therefore,  passed  off  in  con- 
strained silence.  The  captain  ate  voraciously  and 
vociferously,  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  went  on  deck 
to  relieve  the  mate.  The  latter,  a  stunted  little  Cock- 
ney with  a  wizened  countenance  and  a  mind  as  foul 
as  his  tongue,  got  small  change  of  his  attempts  to 
engage  the  passenger  in  conversation  on  topics  that 
he  considered  fit  for  discussion.  After  the  sixth  or 
eighth  snubbing  he  rose  in  dudgeon,  discharged  a 
poisonous  bit  of  insolence,  and  retired  to  his  berth, 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES 

leaving  Kirkwood  to  finish  his  breakfast  in  peace; 
which  the  latter  did  literally,  to  the  last  visible  scrap 
of  food  and  the  ultimate  drop  of  coffee,  poor  as  both 
were  in  quality. 

To  the  tune  of  a  moderating  wind,  the  morning 
wearied  away.  Kirkwood  went  on  deck  once,  for  dis- 
traction from  the  intolerable  monotony  of  it  all,  got  a 
sound  drenching  of  spray,  with  a  glimpse  of  a  dark 
line  on  the  eastern  horizon,  which  he  understood  to  be 
the  low  littoral  of  Holland,  and  was  glad  to  dodge 
below  once  more  and  dry  himself. 

He  had  the  pleasure  of  the  mate's  company  at  din- 
ner, the  captain  remaining  on  deck  until  Hobbs  had 
finished  and  gone  up  to  relieve  him ;  and  by  that  time 
Kirkwood  likewise  was  through. 

Stryker  blew  down  with  a  blustery  show  of  cheer. 
"  Well,  well,  my  little  man! "  (It  happened  that  he 
topped  Kirkwood's  stature  by  at  least  five  inches.) 
"  Enj'yin'  yer  sea  trip?  " 

"  About  as  much  as  you'd  expect,"  snapped  Kirk- 
wood. 

"  Ow?  "  The  captain  began  to  shovel  food  into 
his  face.  (  The  author  regrets  he  has  at  his  command 
no  more  delicate  expression  that  is  literal  and  il- 
lustrative.) Kirkwood  watched  him,  fascinated  with 
suspense ;  it  seemed  impossible  that  the  man  could  con- 
tinue so  to  employ  his  knife  without  cutting  his  throat 
from  the  inside.  But  years  of  such  manipulation 


244  THE  BLACK  BAG 

had  made  him  expert,  and  his  guest,  keenly  disap- 
pointed, at  length  ceased  to  hope. 

Between     gobbles     Stryker    eyed     him     furtively. 

"  'Treat  you  all  right?  "  he  demanded  abruptly. 

Kirkwood  started  out  of  a  brown  study.  "  What? 
Who  ?  Why,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  —  indeed,  I  am 
grateful,"  he  asserted.  "  Certainly  you  saved  my 
life,  and—" 

"  Ow,  I  don't  mean  that."  Stryker  gathered  the 
imputation  into  his  paw  and  flung  it  disdainfully  to 
the  four  winds  of  Heaven.  "  Bless  yer  'art,  you're 
welcome;  I  wouldn't  let  no  dorg  drownd,  'f  I  could 
'elp  it.  No,"  he  declared,  "  nor  a  loonatic,  neither." 

He  thrust  his  plate  away  and  shifted  sidewise  in 
his  chair.  "  I  'uz  just  wonderin',"  he  pursued,  pick- 
ing his  teeth  meditatively  with  a  pen-knife,  "  'ow 
they  feeds  you  in  them  a^-ylums.  'Avin'  never  been 
inside  one,  myself,  it's  on'y  natural  I'd  be  cur'us. 
There  was  one  of  them  institootions  near 
where  I  was  borned  —  Birming'am,  that  is.  I  used 
to  see  the  loonies  playin'  in  the  grounds.  I  remem- 
ber just  as  well !  .  .  .  One  of  'em  and  me  struck 
up  quite  an  acquaintance — " 

"  Naturally  he'd  take  to  you  on  sight." 

"  Ow?  Strynge  'ow  we  'it  it  off,  eigh?  .  .  . 
You  myke  me  think  of  'im.  Young  chap,  'e  was,  the 
livin'  spi*t-'n-himage  of  you.  It  don't  happen,  does 
it,  you're  the  same  man  ?  " 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  245 

"  Oh,  go  to  the  devil !  " 

"  Naughty !  "  said  the  captain  serenely,  wagging  a 
reproving  forefinger.     "  Bad,  naughty  word.     You'll 
be  sorry  when  you  find  out  wot  it  means. 
Only  'e  was  allus  plannin*  to  run  awye  and  drownd 
'is-self."     .     .     . 

He  wore  the  joke  threadbare,  even  to  his  own  taste, 
and  in  the  end  got  heavily  to  his  feet,  starting  for 
the  companionway.  "  Land  you  this  arternoon,"  he 
remarked  casually,  "  come  three  o'clock  or  there- 
abahts.  Per'aps  later.  I  don't  know,  though,  as 
I  'ad  ought  to  let  you  loose." 

Kirkwood  made  no  answer.  Chuckling,  Stryker 
went  on  deck. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  the  American  followed 
him. 

Wind  and  sea  alike  had  gone  down  wonderfully 
since  daybreak  —  a  circumstance  undoubtedly  in 
great  part  due  to  the  fact  that  they  had  won  in  under 
the  lee  of  the  mainland  and  were  traversing  shal- 
lower waters.  On  either  hand,  like  mist  upon  the 
horizon,  lay  a  streak  of  gray,  a  shade  darker  than 
the  gray  of  the  waters.  The  Alethea  was  within  the 
wide  jaws  of  the  Western  Scheldt.  As  for  the  wind, 
it  had  shifted  several  points  to  the  northwards;  the 
brigantine  had  it  abeam  and  was  lying  down  to  it 
and  racing  to  port  with  slanting  deck  and  singing 
cordage. 


246  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Kirkwood  approached  the  captain,  who,  acting  as 
his  own  pilot,  was  standing  by  the  wheel  and  barking 
sharp  orders  to  the  helmsman. 

"  Have  you  a  Bradshaw  on  board? "  asked  the 
young  man. 

"  Steady ! "  This  to  the  man  at  the  wheel ;  then 
to  Kirkwood:  "  Wot's  that,  me  lud?  " 

Kirkwood  repeated  his  question.  Stryker  eyed  him 
suspiciously  for  a  thought. 

"  Wot  d'you  want  it  for?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  when  I  can  get  a  boat  back  to  Eng- 
land." 

"  Hmm.  .  .  .  Yes,  you'll  find  a  Bradshaw  in 
the  port-locker,  near  the  for'ard  bulk'ead.  Run  along 
now  and  pl'y  —  and  mind  you  don't  go  tearin'  out 
the  pyges  to  myke  pyper  boatses  to  go  sylin'  in." 

Kirkwood  went  below.  Like  its  adjacent  rooms, 
the  cabin  was  untenanted;  the  watch  was  the  mate's, 
and  Stryker  a  martinet.  Kirkwood  found  the  desig- 
nated locker  and,  opening  it,  saw  first  to  his  hand 
the  familiar  bulky  red  volume  with  its  red  garter. 
Taking  it  out  he  carried  it  to  a  chair  near  the  com- 
panionway,  for  a  better  reading  light:  the  skylight 
being  still  battened  down. 

The  strap  removed,  the  book  opened  easily,  as  if 
by  force  of  habit,  at  the  precise  table  he  had  wished 
to  consult;  some  previous  client  had  left  a  marker 
between  the  pages, —  and  not  an  ordinary  book-marl^ 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  247 

by  any  manner  of  means.  Kirkwood  gave  utterance 
to  a  little  gasp  of  amazement,  and  instinctively 
glanced  up  at  the  companionway,  to  see  if  he  were 
observed. 

He  was  not,  but  for  safety's  sake  he  moved  far- 
ther back  into  the  cabin  and  out  of  the  range  of 
vision  of  any  one  on  deck ;  a  precaution  which  was  al- 
most immediately  justified  by  the  clumping  of  heavy 
feet  upon  the  steps  as  Stryker  descended  in  pursuit 
of  the  ever-essential  drink. 

"  'Find  it  ?  "  he  demanded,  staring  blindly  —  with 
eyes  not  yet  focused  to  the  change  from  light  to  gloom 
• —  at  the  young  man,  who  was  sitting  with  the  guide 
open  on  his  knees,  a  tightly  clenched  fist  resting  on 
the  transom  at  either  side  of  him. 

In  reply  he  received  a  monosyllabic  affirmative; 
Kirkwood  did  not  look  up. 

"  You  must  be  a  howl,"  commented  the  captain, 
making  for  the  seductive  locker. 

"A  — what?" 

"  A  howl,  readin'  that  fine  print  there  in  the  dark. 
W'y  don't  you  go  over  to  the  light?  .  .  .  I'll 
'ave  to  'ave  them  shutters  tyken  off  the  winders." 
This  was  Stryker's  amiable  figure  of  speech,  fre- 
quently employed  to  indicate  the  coverings  of  the 
skylight. 

"  I'm  all  right."  Kirkwood  went  on  studying  the 
book. 


248  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Stryker  swigged  off  his  rum  and  wiped  his  lips  with 
the  back  of  a  red  paw,  hesitating  a  moment  to  watch 
his  guest. 

"  Mykes  it  seem  more  'ome-like  for  you,  I  expect," 
he  observed. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  W'y,  Bradshaw's  first-cousin  to  a  halmanack, 
ain't  'e  ?  Can't  get  one,  take  t'other  —  next  best 
thing.  Sorry  I  didn't  think  of  it  sooner ;  like  my  pas- 
sengers to  feel  comfy.  .  .  .  Now  don't  you  go 
trapsein'  off  to  gay  Paree  and  squanderin'  wot  money 
you  got  left.  You  'ear?  " 

"  By  the  way,  Captain ! "  Kirkwood  looked  up 
at  this,  but  Stryker  was  already  half-way  up  the 
companion. 

Cautiously  the  American  opened  his  right  fist  and 
held  to  the  light  that  which  had  been  concealed,  close 
wadded  in  his  grasp, —  a  square  of  sheer  linen  edged 
with  lace,  crumpled  but  spotless,  and  diffusing  in 
the  unwholesome  den  a  faint,  intangible  fragrance, 
the  veriest  wraith  of  that  elusive  perfume  which  he 
would  never  again  inhale  without  instantly  recalling 
that  night  ride  through  London  in  the  intimacy  of 
a  cab. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  saw  her  again,  as  clearly 
as  though  she  stood  before  him, —  hair  of  gold  massed 
above  the  forehead  of  snow,  curling  in  adorable 
tendrils  at  the  nape  of  her  neck,  lips  like  scarlet 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  249 

splashed  upon  the  immaculate  whiteness  of  her  skin, 
head  poised  audaciously  in  its  spirited,  youthful  al- 
lure, dark  eyes  smiling  the  least  trace  sadly  beneath 
the  level  brows. 

Unquestionably  the  handkerchief  was  hers  ;  if  proof 
other  than  the  assurance  of  his  heart  were  requisite, 
he  had  it  in  the  initial  delicately  embroidered  in  one 
corner:  a  D,  for  Dorothy!  .  .  .  He  looked 
again,  to  make  sure ;  then  hastily  folded  up  the  treas- 
ure-trove and  slipped  it  into  a  breast  pocket  of  his 
coat. 

No;  I  am  not  sure  that  it  was  not  the  left-hand 
pocket. 

Quivering  with  excitement  he  bent  again  over  the 
book  and  studied  it  intently.  After  all,  he  had  not 
been  wrong!  He  could  assert  now,  without  fear  of 
refutation,  that  Stryker  had  lied. 

Some  one  had  wielded  an  industrious  pencil  on  the 
page.  It  was,  taken  as  a  whole,  fruitful  of  clues. 
Its  very  heading  was  illuminating: 

LONDON  to  VLISSINGEN   (BLUSHING)   AND  BBEDA ; 

which  happened  to  be  the  quickest  and  most  direct 
route  between  London  and  Antwerp.  Beneath  it,  in 
the  second  column  from  the  right,  the  pencil  had  put 
a  check-mark  against: 

QUEENSBOROUGH       .       .       .       DEP       .       .       .       HalO. 


250  THE  BLACK  BAG 

And  now  he  saw  it  clearly  —  dolt  that  he  had  been 
not  to  have  divined  it  ere  this !  The  Aleihea  had  run 
in  to  Queensborough,  landing  her  passengers  there, 
that  they  might  make  connection  with  the  eleven-ten 
^morning  boat  for  Flushing, —  the  very  side-wheel 
steamer,  doubtless,  which  he  had  noticed  beating  out 
in  the  teeth  of  the  gale  just  after  the  brigantine  had 
picked  him  up.  Had  he  not  received  the  passing 
impression  that  the  Alethea,  when  first  he  caught  sight 
of  her,  might  have  been  coming  out  of  the  Medway, 
on  whose  eastern  shore  is  situate  Queensborough  Pier? 
Had  not  Mrs.  Hallam,  going  upon  he  knew  not  what 
information  or  belief,  been  bound  for  Queensborough, 
with  design  there  to  intercept  the  fugitives? 

Kirkwood  chuckled  to  recall  how,  all  unwittingly, 
he  had  been  the  means  of  diverting  from  her 
chosen  course  that  acute  and  resourceful  lady;  then 
again  turned  his  attention  to  the  tables. 

A  third  check  had  been  placed  against  the  train 
for  Amsterdam  scheduled  to  leave  Antwerp  at  6:3& 
p.  m.  Momentarily  his  heart  misgave  him,  when  he 
'.saw  this,  in  fear  lest  Calendar  and  Dorothy  should 
have  gone  on  from  Antwerp  the  previous  evening; 
but  then  he  rallied,  discovering  that  the  boat-train 
from  Flushing  did  not  arrive  at  Antwerp  till  after 
ten  at  night;  and  there  was  no  later  train  thence  for 
Amsterdam.  Were  the  latter  truly  their  purposed 
destination,  they  would  have  stayed  overnight  and  be 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  251 

leaving  that  very  evening  on  the  6 :32.  On  the  other 
hand,  why  should  they  wait  for  the  latest  train,  rather 
than  proceed  by  the  first  available  in  the  morning? 
Why  but  because  Calendar  and  Mulready  were  to 
wait  for  Stryker  to  join  them  on  the  Alethea? 

Very  well,  then ;  if  the  wind  held  and  Stryker  knew 
his  business,  there  would  be  another  passenger  on  that 
train,  in  addition  to  the  Calendar  party. 

Making  mental  note  of  the  fact  that  the  boat-train 
for  Flushing  and  London  was  scheduled  to  leave  Ant- 
werp daily  at  8 :21  p.  m.,  Kirkwood  rustled  the  leaves 
to  find  out  whether  or  not  other  tours  had  been 
planned,  found  evidences  of  none,  and  carefully  re- 
stored the  guide  to  the  locker,  lest  inadvertently  the 
captain  should  pick  it  up  and  see  what  Kirkwood  had 
seen. 

An  hour  later  he  went  on  deck.  The  skies  had 
blown  clear  and  the  brigantine  was  well  in  land-bound 
waters  and  still  footing  a  rattling  pace.  The  river- 
banks  had  narrowed  until,  beyond  the  dikes  to  right 
and  left,  the  country-side  stretched  wide  and  flat,  a 
plain  of  living  green  embroidered  with  winding  roads 
and  quaint  Old- World  hamlets  whose  red  roofs  shone 
like  dull  fire  between  the  dark  green  foliage  of 
dwarfed  firs. 

Down  with  the  Scheldt's  gray  shimmering  flood 
were  drifting  little  companies  of  barges,  sturdy  and 
snug  both  fore  and  aft,  tough  tanned  sails  burning 


252  THE  BLACK  BAG 

in  the  afternoon  sunlight.  A  long  string  of  canal- 
boats,  potted  plants  flowering  saucily  in  their  neatly 
curtained  windows,  proprietors  expansively  smoking 
on  deck,  in  the  bosoms  of  their  very  large  families, 
was  being  mothered  up-stream  by  two  funny,  cluck- 
ing tugs.  Behind  the  brigantine  a  travel-worn  At- 
lantic liner  was  scolding  itself  hoarse  about  the  right 
of  way.  Outward  bound,  empty  cattle  boats,  rough 
and  rusty,  were  swaggering  down  to  the  sea,  with  the 
careless,  independent  thumbs-in-armholes  air  of  so 
many  navvies  off  the  job. 

And  then  lifting  suddenly  above  the  level  far-off 
sky-line,  there  appeared  a  very  miracle  of  beauty; 
the  delicate  tracery  of  the  great  Cathedral's  spire  of 
frozen  lace,  glowing  like  a  thing  of  spun  gold,  set 
against  the  sapphire  velvet  of  the  horizon. 

Antwerp  was  in  sight. 

A  troublesome  care  stirring  in  his  mind,  Kirkwood 
looked  round  the  deck;  but  Stryker  was  very  busy, 
entirely  too  preoccupied  with  the  handling  of  his 
ship  to  be  interrupted  with  impunity.  Besides,  there 
was  plenty  of  time. 

More  slowly  now,  the  wind  falling,  the  brigantine 
crept  up  the  river,  her  crew  alert  with  sheets  and 
halyards  as  the  devious  windings  of  the  stream 
rendered  it  necessary  to  trim  the  canvas  at  varying 
angles  to  catch  the  wind. 

Slowly,  too,  in  the  shadow  of  that  Mechlin  spire, 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  253 

the  horizon  grew  rough  and  elevated,  taking  shape 
in  the  serrated  profile  of  a  thousand  gables  and  a 
hundred  towers  and  cross-crowned  steeples. 

Once  or  twice,  more  and  more  annoyed  as  the  time 
of  their  association  seemed  to  grow  more  brief,  Kirk- 
wood  approached  the  captain;  but  Stryker  continued 
to  be  exhaustively  absorbed  in  the  performance  of 
his  duties. 

Up  past  the  dockyards,  where  spidery  masts  stood 
in  dense  groves  about  painted  funnels,  and  men. 
swarmed  over  huge  wharves  like  ants  over  a  crust  of 
bread;  up  and  round  the  final,  great  sweeping  bend 
of  the  river,  the  Alethea  made  her  sober  way,  ever 
with  greater  slowness ;  until  at  length,  in  the  rose 
glow  of  a  flawless  evening,  her  windlass  began  to 
clank  like  a  mad  thing  and  her  anchor  bit  the  river- 
bed, near  the  left  bank,  between  old  Forts  Isabella 
and  Tete  de  Flandre,  frowned  upon  from  the  right 
by  the  grim  pile  of  the  age-old  Steen  castle. 

And  again  Kirkwood  sought  Stryker,  his  carking 
query  ready  on  his  lips.  But  the  captain  impatiently 
waved  him  aside. 

"  Don't  you  bother  me  now,  me  lud  juke!  Wyte 
until  I  gets  done  with  the  custom  hofficer." 

Kirkwood  acceded,  perforce;  and  bided  his  time 
with  what  tolerance  he  could  muster. 

A  pluttering  customs  launch  bustled  up  to  the 
Alethea's  side,  discharged  a  fussy  inspector  on  the 


254  THE  BLACK  BAG 

brigantine's  deck,  and  panted  impatiently  until  he, 
the  examination  concluded  without  delay,  was  again 
aboard. 

Stryker,  smirking  benignly  and  massaging  his  lips 
with  the  back  of  his  hand,  followed  the  official  on 
deck,  nodded  to  Kirkwood  an  intimation  that  he  was 
prepared  to  accord  him  an  audience,  and  strolled  for- 
ward to  the  waist.  The  American,  mastering  his  re- 
sentment, meekly  followed;  one  can  not  well  afford 
to  be  haughty  when  one  is  asking  favors. 

Advancing  to  the  rail,  the  captain  whistled  in  one 
of  the  river-boats ;  then,  while  the  waterman  waited, 
faced  his  passenger. 

"  Now,  yer  r'yal  'ighness,  wot  can  I  do  for  you 
afore  you  goes  ashore?  " 

"  I  think  you  must  have  forgotten,"  said  Kirk- 
wood  quietly.  "  I  hate  to  trouble  you,  but  —  there's 
that  matter  of  four  pounds." 

Stryker's  face  was  expressive  only  of  mystified 
vacuity.  "  Four  quid?  I  dunno  as  I  know  just  wot 
you  means." 

"  You  agreed  to  advance  me  four  pounds  on  those 
things  of  mine.  .  .  ." 

»  "  Ow-w ! "  Illumination  overspread  the  hollow- 
jowled  countenance.  Stryker  smiled  cheerfully. 
"  Garn  with  you !  "  he  chuckled.  "  You  will  'ave  yer 
little  joke,  won't  you  now?  I  declare  I  never  see  a 
loony  with  such  affecsh'nit,  pl'yful  wyes ! " 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  255 

Kirkwood's  eyes  narrowed.  "  Stryker,"  he  said 
steadily,  "  give  me  the  four  pounds  and  let's  have  no 
more  nonsense ;  or  else  hand  over  my  things  at  once." 

"  Daffy,"   Stryker  told   vacancy,  with  conviction 
"  Lor'  luv  me  if  I  sees  'ow  he  ever  'ad  sense  enough 
to    escype.     W'y,    yer    majesty!"    and    he    bowed, 
ironic.     "  I  'ave  given  you  yer  quid." 

"  Just  about  as  much  as  I  gave  you  that  pearl  pin," 
retorted  Kirkwood  hotly.  "  What  the  devil  do  you 
mean  — 

"  W'y,  yer  ludship,  four  pounds  jus  pyes  yer 
passyge;  /  thought  you  understood." 

"  My  passage !  But  I  can  come  across  by  steamer 
for  thirty  shillings,  first-class  — 

"  Aw,  but  them  steamers !  Tricky,  they  is,  and 
unsyfe.  .  .  .  No,  yer  gryce,  the  W.  Stryker 
Packet  Line  Lim'ted,  London  to  Antwerp,  charges 
four  pounds  per  passyge  and  no  reduction  for  return 
fare." 

Stunned  by  his  effrontery,  Kirkwood  stared  in  si- 
lence. 

"Any  complynts,"  continued  the  captain,  looking 
over  Kirkwood's  head,  "  must  be  lyde  afore  the  Board 
of  Directors  in  writin'  not  more'n  thirty  dyes 
arfter  — " 

"  You  damned  scoundrel !  "  interpolated  Kirkwood 
thoughtfully. 

Stryker's  mouth  closed  with  a  snap;  his  features 


256  THE  BLACK  BAG 

s 

froze  in  a  cast  of  wrath;  cold  rage  glinted  in  his 
small  blue  eyes.  "  W'y,"  he  bellowed,  "  you  bloomin* 
loonatic,  d'ye  think  you  can  sye  that  to  Bill  Stryker 
on  'is  own  wessel !  " 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  launched  a  heavy  fist 
at  Kirkwood's  face.  Unsurprised,  the  young  man 
side-stepped,  caught  the  hard,  bony  wrist  as  the  cap- 
tain lurched  by,  following  his  wasted  blow,  and  with 
a  dexterous  twist  laid  him  flat  on  his  back,  with  a 
sounding  thump  upon  the  deck.  And  as  the  infu- 
riated scamp  rose  —  which  he  did  with  a  bound  that 
placed  him  on  his  feet  and  in  defensive  posture;  as 
though  the  deck  had  been  a  spring-board  —  Kirkwood 
leaped  back,  seized  a  capstan-bar,  and  faced  him  with 
a  challenge. 

"  Stand  clear,  Stryker ! "  he  warned  the  man1 
tensely,  himself  livid  with  rage.  "  If  you  move  a 
step  closer  I  swear  I'll  knock  the  head  off  your  shoul- 
ders !  Not  another  inch,  you  contemptible  whelp,  or 
I'll  brain  you!  .  .  .  That's  better,"  he  contin- 
ued as  the  captain,  caving,  dropped  his  fists  and 
moved  uneasily  back.  "  Now  give  that  boatman 
money  for  taking  me  ashore.  Yes,  I'm  going  —  and 
if  we  ever  meet  again,  take  the  other  side  of  the  way, 
Stryker!" 

Without  response,  a  grim  smile  wreathing  his  thin, 
hard  lips,  Stryker  thrust  one  hand  into  his  pocket, 
and  withdrawing  a  coin,  tossed  it  to  the  waiting 


PICARESQUE  PASSAGES  257 

waterman.  Whereupon  Kirkwood  backed  warily  to 
the  rail,  abandoned  the  capstan-bar  and  dropped  over 
the  side. 

Nodding  to  the  boatman,  "  The  Steen  landing  — 
quickly,"  he  said  in  French. 

Stryker,  recovering,  advanced  to  the  rail  and  waved 
him  a  derisive  bon  voyage. 

"  By-by,  yer  hexcellency.  I  'opes  it  may  soon  be 
my  pleasure  to  meet  you  again.  You've  been  a  real 
privilege  to  know ;  I've  hen j  oy ed  yer  comp'ny  some- 
thin'  immense.  Don't  know  as  I  ever  met  such  a 
rippin',  Ay  Number  One,  all-round,  entertynin'  ass, 
afore !  " 

He  fumbled  nervously  about  his  clothing,  brought 
to  light  a  rag  of  cotton,  much  the  worse  for  service, 
and  ostentatiously  wiped  from  the  corner  of  each  eye 
tears  of  grief  at  parting.  Then,  as  the  boat  swung 
toward  the  farther  shore,  Kirkwood's  back  was  to 
the  brigantine,  and  he  was  little  tempted  to  turn  and 
invite  fresh  shafts  of  ridicule. 

Rapidly,  as  he  was  ferried  across  the  busy  Scheldt, 
the  white  blaze  of  his  passion  cooled ;  but  the  biting 
irony  of  his  estate  ate,  corrosive,  into  his  soul.  Hol- 
low-eyed he  glared  vacantly  into  space,  pale  lips  un- 
moving,  his  features  wasted  with  despair. 

They  came  to  the  landing-stage  and  swung  broad- 
side on.  Mechanically  the  American  got  up  and 
disembarked.'  As  heedless  of  time  and  place  he  moved 


258  THE  BLACK  BAG 

up  the  Quai  to  the  gangway  and  so  gained  the  es- 
planade; where  pausing  he  thrust  a  trembling  hand 
into  his  trouser  pocket. 

The  hand  reappeared,  displaying  in  its  outspread 
palm  three  big,  round,  brown,  British  pennies.  Star- 
ing down  at  them,  Kirkwood's  lips  moved. 

"  Bed  rock !  "  he  whispered  huskily. 


xin 

A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME 

Without  warning  or  presage  the  still  evening  air 
was  smitten  and  made  softly  musical  by  the  pealing 
of  a  distant  chime,  calling  vespers  to  its  brothers 
in  Antwerp's  hundred  belfries ;  and  one  by  one,  far 
and  near,  the  responses,  broke  out,  until  it  seemed  as 
if  the  world  must  be  vibrant  with  silver  and  brazen 
melody ;  until  at  the  last  the  great  bells  in  the  Cathe- 
dral spire  stirred  and  grumbled  drowsily,  then  woke 
to  such  ringing  resonance  as  dwarfed  all  the  rest  and 
made  it  seem  as  nothing. 

Like  the  beating  of  a  mighty  heart  heard  through 
the  rushing  clamor  of  the  pulses,  a  single  deep- 
throated  bell  boomed  solemnly  six  heavy,  rumbling 
strokes. 

Six  o'clock!  Kirkwood  roused  out  of  his  dour 
brooding.  The  Amsterdam  express  would  leave  at 
6:32,  and  he  knew  not  from  what  station. 

Striding  swiftly  across  the  promenade,  he  entered 
a  small  tobacco  shop  and  made  inquiry  of  the  pro- 
prietress. His  cornraajdd  of  French  was  tolerable; 


260  THE  BLACK  BAG 

he  experienced  no  difficulty  in  comprehending  the 
good  woman's  instructions. 

Trains  for  Amsterdam,  she  said,  left  from  the  Gare 
Centrale,  a  mile  or  so  across  the  city.  M'sieur  had 
plenty  of  time,  and  to  spare.  There  was  the  tram 
line,  if  m'sieur  did  not  care  to  take  a  fiacre.  If  he 
would  go  by  way  of  the  Vielle  Bourse  he  would  dis- 
cover the  tram  cars  of  the  Rue  Kipdorp.  M'sieur 
was  most  welcome. 

Monsieur  departed  with  the  more  haste  since  he 
was  unable  to  repay  this  courtesy  with  the  most 
trifling  purchase;  such  slight  matters  annoyed  Kirk- 
wood  intensely.  Perhaps  it  was  well  for  him  that  he 
had  the  long  walk  to  help  him  work  off  the  fit  of 
nervous  exasperation  into  which  he  was  plunged  every 
time  his  thoughts  harked  back  to  that  jovial  black- 
guard, Stryker.  .  .  .  He  was  quite  calm  when, 
after  a  brisk  walk  of  some  fifteen  minutes,  he  reached 
the  station. 

A  public  clock  reassured  him  with  the  information 
that  he  had  the  quarter  of  an  hour's  leeway ;  it  was 
only  seventeen  minutes  past  eighteen  o'clock  (Belgian 
railway  time,  always  confusing).  Inquiring  his  way 
to  the  Amsterdam  train,  which  was  already  waiting 
at  the  platform,  he  paced  its  length,  peering  brazenly 
in  at  the  coach  windows,  now  warm  with  hope,  now 
shivering  with  disappointment,  realizing  as  he  could 
not  but  realize  that,  all  else  aside,  his  only  chance  of 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     261 

rehabilitation  lay  in  meeting  Calendar.  But  in  none 
of  the  coaches  or  carriages  did  he  discover  any  one 
even  remotely  resembling  the  fat  adventurer,  his 
daughter,  or  Mulready. 

Sa/isfied  that  they  had  not  yet  boarded  the  train, 
he  stood  aside,  tortured  with  forebodings,  while 
anxiously  scrutinizing  each  individual  of  the  throng 
of  intending  travelers.  .  .  .  Perhaps  they  had 
been  delayed  —  by  the  Alethea's  lateness  in  making 
port  very  likely ;  perhaps  they  purposed  taking  not 
this  but  a  later  train;  perhaps  they  had  already  left 
the  city  by  an  earlier,  or  had  returned  to  England. 

On  time,  the  bell  clanged  its  warning;  the  guards 
bawled  theirs ;  doors  were  hastily  opened  and  slammed ; 
the  trucks  began  to  groan,  couplings  jolting  as  the 
engine  chafed  in  constraint.  The  train  and  Kirk- 
wood  moved  simultaneously  out  of  opposite  ends  of  the 
station,  the  one  to  rattle  and  hammer  round  the  east- 
ern boundaries  of  the  city  and  straighten  out  at  top 
speed  on  the  northern  route  for  the  Belgian  line,  the 
other  to  stroll  moodily  away,  idle  hands  in  empty \ 
pockets,  bound  aimlessly  anywhere  —  it  didn't  mat- 
ter! 

Nothing  whatever  mattered  in  the  smallest  degree. 
Ere  now  the  outlook  had  been  dark ;  but  this  he  felt 
to  be  the  absolute  nadir  of  his  misfortunes.  Pres- 
ently —  after  a  while  —  as  soon  as  he  could  bring 
himself  to  it  —  he  would  ask  the  way  and  go  to  the 


262  THE  BLACK  BAG 

American  Consulate.  But  just  now,  low  as  the  tide 
of  chance  had  ebbed,  leaving  him  stranded  on  the 
flats  of  vagabondage,  low  as  showed  the  measure  of 
his  self-esteem,  he  could  not  tolerate  the  prospect  of 
begging  for  assistance  —  help  which  would  in  all 
likelihood  be  refused,  since  his  story  was  quite  too  pre- 
posterous to  gain  credence  in  official  ears  that  daily 
are  filled  with  the  lamentations  of  those  whose  motives 
do  not  bear  investigation.  And  if  he  chose  to  elimi- 
nate the  strange  chain  of  events  which  had  landed 
him  in  Antwerp,  to  base  his  plea  solely  on  the  fact 
that  he  was  a  victim  of  the  San  Francisco  disaster 
.  he  himself  was  able  to  smile,  if  sourly,  an- 
ticipating the  incredulous  consular  smile  with  which 
he  would  be  shown  the  door. 

No;  that  he  would  reserve  as  a  last  resort.  True, 
he  had  already  come  to  the  Jumping-off  Place;  to 
the  Court  of  the  Last  Resort  alone  could  he  now 
appeal.  But  .  .  .  not  yet;  after  a  while  he 
could  make  his  petition,  after  he  had  made  a  familiar 
of  the  thought  that  he  must  armor  himself  with 
callous  indifference  to  rebuff,  to  say  naught  of  the 
waves  of  burning  shame  that  would  overwhelm  him 
when  he  came  to  the  point  of  asking  charity. 

He  found  himself,  neither  knowing  nor  caring  how 
he  had  won  thither,  in  the  Place  Verte,  the  vast  ven- 
erable pile  of  the  Cathedral  rising  on  his  right,  hotels 
and  quaint  Old-World  dwellings  with  peaked  roofs 


and  gables  and  dormer  windows,  inclosing  the  other 
sides  of  the  square.  The  chimes  (he  could  hear  none 
but  those  of  the  Cathedral)  were  heralding  the  hour 
of  seven.  Listless  and  preoccupied  in  contemplation 
of  his  wretched  case  he  wandered  purposelessly  half 
round  the  square,  then  dropped  into  a  bench  on  its 
outskirts.  1 

It  was  some  time  later  that  he  noticed,  with  a  casual, 
indifferent  eye,  a  porter  running  out  of  the  Hotel  de 
Flandre,  directly  opposite,  and  calling  a  fiacre  In  to 
the  carnage  block. 

As  languidly  he  watched  a  woman,  very  becom- 
ingly dressed,  follow  the  porter  down  to  the  curb. 

The  fiacre  swung  in,  and  the  woman  dismissed  the 
porter  before  entering  the  vehicle;  a  proceeding  so 
unusual  that  it  fixed  the  onlooker's  interest.  He  sat 
rigid  with  attention ;  the  woman  seemed  to  be  giving 
explicit  and  lengthy  directions  to  the  driver,  who 
nodded  and  gesticulated  his  comprehension. 

The  woman  was  Mrs.  Hallam. 

The  first  blush  of  recognition  passed,  leaving  Kirk- 
wood  without  any  amazement.  It  was  an  easy  mat-, 
ter  to  account  for  her  being  where  she  was.  Thrown 
off  the  scent  by  Kirkwood  at  Sheerness,  the  previous 
morning,  she  had  missed  the  day  boat,  the  same  whichi 
had  ferried  over  those  whom  she  pursued.  Return- 
ing from  Sheerness  to  Queensborough,  however,  she 
had  taken  the  night  boat  for  Flushing  and  Antwerp, 


264  THE  BLACK  BAG 

• —  and  not  without  her  plan,  who  was  not  a  woman  to 
waste  her  strength  aimlessly ;  Kirkwood  believed  that 
she  had  had  from  the  first  a  very  definite  campaign 
in  view.  In  that  campaign  Queensborough  Pier  had 
been  the  first  strategic  move;  the  journey  to  Antwerp, 
apparently,  the  second ;  and  the  American  was  im- 
pressed that  he  was  witnessing  the  inception  of  the 
third  decided  step.  .  .  .  The  conclusion  of  this 
process  of  reasoning  was  inevitable:  Madam  would 
bear  watching. 

Thus  was  a  magical  transformation  brought  about. 
Instantaneously  lassitude  and  vain  repinings  were  re- 
placed by  hopefulness  and  energy.  In  a  twinkling 
the  young  man  was  on  his  feet,  every  nerve  a-thrill 
with  excitement. 

Mrs.  Hallam,  blissfully  ignorant  of  this  surveillance 
over  her  movements,  took  her  place  in  the  fiacre.  The 
'driver  clucked  to  his  horse,  cracked  his  whip,  and 
started  off  at  a  slow  trot:  a  pace  which  Kirkwood 
imitated,  keeping  himself  at  a  discreet  distance  to  the 
rear  of  the  cab,  but  prepared  to  break  into  a  run 
whenever  it  should  prove  necessary. 

Such  exertion,  however,  was  not  required  of  him. 
Evidently  Mrs.  Hallam  was  in  no  great  haste  to 
reach  her  destination ;  the  speed  of  the  fiacre  remained 
extremely  moderate;  Kirkwood  found  a  long,  brisk 
stride  fast  enough  to  keep  it  well  in  sight. 

Round  the  green  square,  under  the  beautiful  walls 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     265 

of  Notre  Dame  d'Anvers,  through  Grande  Place  and 
past  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  the  cab  proceeded,  dogged  by 
what  might  plausibly  be  asserted  the  most  persistent 
and  infatuated  soul  that  ever  crossed  the  water;  and 
so  on  into  the  Quai  Van  Dyck,  turning  to  the  left 
at  the  old  Steen  dungeon  and,  slowing  to  a  walk, 
moving  soberly  up  the  drive. 

Beyond  the  lip  of  the  embankment,  the  Scheldt 
flowed,  its  broad  shining  surface  oily,  smooth  and 
dark,  a  mirror  for  the  incandescent  glory  of  the  skies. 
Over  on  the  western  bank  old  Tete  de  Flandre  lifted 
up  its  grim  curtains  and  bastions,  sable  against  the 
crimson,  rampart  and  parapet  edged  with  fire.  Busy 
little  side-wheeled  ferry  steamers  spanked  the  waters 
noisily  and  smudged  the  sunset  with,  dark  drifting 
trails  of  smoke ;  and  ever  and  anon  a  rowboat  would 
slip  out  of  shadow  to  glide  languidly  with  the  cur- 
rent. Otherwise  the  life  of  the  river  was  gone; 
and  at  their  moorings  the  ships  swung  in  great  quiet- 
ness, riding  lights  glimmering  like  low  wan  stars. 

In  the  company  of  the  latter  the  young  man  marked 
down  the  Alethea;  a  sight  which  made  him  uncon- 
sciously clench  both  fists  and  teeth,  reminding  him 
of  that  rare  wag,  Stryker. 

To  his  way  of  thinking  the  behavior  of  the  fiacre 
was  quite  unaccountable.  Hardly  had  the  horse 
paced  off  the  length  of  two  blocks  on  the  Quai  ere  it 
was  guided  to  the  edge  of  the  promenade  and  brought 


266  THE  BLACK  BAG 

to  a  stop.  And  the  driver  twisted  the  reins  round 
his  whip,  thrust  the  latter  in  its  socket,  turned  side- 
wise  on  the  box,  and  began  to  smoke  and  swing  his 
heels,  surveying  the  panorama  of  river  and  sunset 
.with  complacency  —  a  cabby,  one  would  venture, 
without  a  care  in  the  world  and  serene  in  the  assurance 
of  a  generous  pour-boire  when  he  lost  his  fare.  But 
as  for  the  latter,  she  made  no  move ;  the  door  of  the 
cab  remained  closed, —  like  its  occupant's  mind,  a  mys- 
tery to  the  watcher. 

Twilight  shadows  lengthened,  darkling,  over  the 
land ;  street-lights  flashed  up  in  long,  radiant  ranks. 
Across  the  promenade  hotels  and  shops  were  lighted 
up ;  people  began  to  gather  round  the  tables  beneath 
the  awnings  of  an  open-air  cafe.  In  the  distance, 
somewhere,  a  band  swung  into  the  dreamy  rhythm  of 
a  haunting  waltz.  Scattered  couples  moved  slowly, 
arm  in  arm,  along  the  riverside  walk,  drinking  in  the 
fragrance  of  the  night.  Overhead  stars  popped  out 
in  brilliance  and  dropped  their  reflections  to  swim 
lazily  on  spellbound  waters.  .  .  .  And  still  the 
fiacre  lingered  in  inaction,  still  the  driver  lorded  it 
aloft,  in  care-free  abandon. 

In  the  course  of  time  this  inertia,  where  he  had 
looked  for  action,  this  dull  suspense  when  he  had 
forecast  interesting  developments,  wore  upon  the 
watcher's  nerves  and  made  him  at  once  impatient  and 
suspicious.  Now  that  he  had  begun  to  doubt,  he 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     267 

conceived  it  as  quite  possible  that  Mrs.  Hallam  (who 
was  capable  of  anything)  should  have  stolen  out  of 
the  cab  by  the  other  and,  to  him,  invisible  door.  To 
resolve  the  matter,  finally,  he  took  advantage  of  the 
darkness,  turned  up  his  coat  collar,  hunched  up  his 
shoulders,  hid  his  hands  in  pockets,  pulled  the  visor 
of  his  cap  well  forward  over  his  eyes,  and  slouched 
past  the  fiacre. 

Mrs.  Hallam  sat  within.  He  could  see  her  profile 
clearly  silhouetted  against  the  light;  she  was  bend- 
ing forward  and  staring  fixedly  out  of  the  window, 
across  the  driveway.  Mentally  he  calculated  the  di- 
rection of  her  gaze,  then  moved  away  and  followed 
it  with  his  own  eyes ;  and  found  himself  staring  at 
the  fa9ade  of  a  third-rate  hotel.  Above  its  roof  the 
gilded  letters  of  a  sign,  catching  the  illumination 
from  below,  spelled  out  the  title  of  "  Hotel  du  Com- 
merce." 

Mrs.  Hallam  was  interested  in  the  Hotel  du  Com- 
merce ? 

Thoughtfully  Kirkwood  fell  back  to  his  former 
point  of  observation,  now  the  richer  by,  another  ob- 
ject of  suspicion,  the  hostelry.  Mrs.  Hallam  was 
waiting  and  watching  for  some  one  to  enter  or  to  leave 
that  establishment.  It  seemed  a  reasonable  inference 
to  draw.  Well,  then,  so  was  Kirkwood,  no  less  than 
the  lady ;  he  deemed  it  quite  conceivable  that  their 
objects  were  identical. 


268  THE  BLACK  BAG 

He  started  to  beguile  the  time  by  wondering  what 
she  would  do,  if  ... 

Of  a  sudden  he  abandoned  this  line  of  speculation, 
and  catching  his  breath,  held  it,  almost  afraid  to 
credit  the  truth  that  for  once  his  anticipations  were 
being  realized  under  his  very  eyes. 

Against  the  lighted  doorway  of  the  Hotel  du  Com- 
merce, the  figures  of  two  men  were  momentarily 
sketched,  as  they  came  hurriedly  forth;  and  of  the 
two,  one  was  short  and  stout,  and  even  at  a  distance 
seemed  to  bear  himself  with  an  accent  of  assertiveness, 
while  the  other  was  tall  and  heavy  of  shoulder. 

Side  by  side  they  marched  in  step  across  the  em- 
bankment to  the  head  of  the  Quai  gangway,  descend- 
ing without  pause  to  the  landing-stage.  Kirkwood, 
hanging  breathlessly  over  the  guard-rail,  could  hear 
their  footfalls  ringing  in  hollow  rhythm  on  the  planks 
of  the  inclined  way, —  could  even  discern  Calendar's 
unlovely  profile  in  dim  relief  beneath  one  of  the  water- 
side lights;  and  he  recognized  unmistakably  Mul- 
ready's  deep  voice,  grumbling  inarticulately. 

At  the  outset  he  had  set  after  them,  with  intent  to 
accost  Calendar;  but  their  pace  had  been  swift  and 
his  irresolute.  He  hung  fire  on  the  issue,  dreading 
to  reveal  himself,  unable  to  decide  which  were  the 
better  course,  to  pursue  the  men,  or  to  wait  and  dis- 
cover what  Mrs.  Hallam  was  about.  In  the  end  he 
waited ;  and  had  his  disappointment  for  recompense. 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME      239 

For  Mrs.  Hallam  did  nothing  intelligible.  Had 
she  driven  over  to  the  hotel,  hard  upon  the  departure 
of  the  men,  he  would  have  believed  that  she  was  seek- 
ing Dorothy,  and  would,  furthermore,  have  elected 
to  crowd  their  interview,  if  she  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing one  with  the  girl.  But  she  did  nothing  of  the 
sort.  For  a  time  the  fiacre  remained  as  it  had  been 
ever  since  stopping;  then,  evidently  admonished  by 
his  fare,  the  driver  straightened  up,  knocked  out  his 
pipe,  disentangled  reins  and  whip,  and  wheeled  the 
equipage  back  on  the  way  it  had  come,  disappearing 
in  a  dark  side  street  leading  eastward  from  the 
embankment. 

Kirkwood  was,  then,  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Hallam, 
having  taken  all  that  trouble  and  having  waited  for 
the  two  adventurers  to  appear,  had  been  content  with 
sight  of  them?  He  could  hardly  believe  that  of  the 
woman ;  it  wasn't  like  her. 

He  started  across  the  driveway,  after  the  fiacre, 
but  it  was  lost  in  a  tangle  of  side  streets  before  he 
could  make  up  his  mind  whether  it  was  worth  while 
chasing  or  not ;  and,  pondering  the  woman's  singular 
action,  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  promenade  rail.  \ 

Presently  he  told  himself  he  understood.  Dorothy 
was  no  longer  of  her  father's  party;  he  had  a  sus- 
picion that  Mulready's  attitude  had  made  it  seem  ad- 
visable to  Calendar  either  to  leave  the  girl  behind, 
in  England,  or  to  segregate  her  from  his  associates 


270  THE  BLACK  BAG 

in  Antwerp.  If  not  lodged  in  another  quarter  of 
the  city,  or  left  behind,  she  was  probably  traveling 
on  ahead,  to  a  destination  which  he  could  by  no  means 
guess.  And  Mrs.  Hallam  was  looking  for  the  girl; 
if  there  were  really  jewels  in  that  gladstone  bag, 
Calendar  would  naturally  have  had  no  hesitation 
about  intrusting  them  to  his  daughter's  care;  and 
Mrs.  Hallam  avowedly  sought  nothing  else.  How: 
the  woman  had  found  out  that  such  was  the  case, 
Kirkwood  did  not  stop  to  reckon;  unless  he  explained 
it  on  the  proposition  that  she  was  a  person  of  re- 
markable address.  It  made  no  matter,  one  way  or 
the  other;  he  had  lost  Mrs.  Hallam;  but  Calendar 
and  Mulready  he  could  put  his  finger  on ;  they  had 
undoubtedly  gone  off  to  the  Aleihea  to  confer  again 
with  Stryker, —  that  was,  unless  they  proposed  sail- 
ing on  the  brigantine,  possibly  at  turn  of  tide  that 
night. 

Panic  gripped  his  soul  and  shook  it,  as  a  terrier 
shakes  a  rat,  when  he  conceived  this  frightful  propo- 
sition. 

In  his  confusion  of  mind  he  evolved  spontaneously 
an  entirely  new  hypothesis:  Dorothy  had  already  been 
spirited  aboard  the  vessel;  Calendar  and  his  confed- 
erate, delaying  to  join  her  from  enigmatic  motives, 
were  now  aboard;  and  presently  the  word  would  be, 
Up-anchor  and  away ! 

Were  they  again  to  elude  him?     Not,  he  swore,  if 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     271 

he  had  to  swim  for  it.  And  he  had  no  wish  to  swim. 
The  clothes  he  stood  in,  with  what  was  left  of  his  self- 
respect,  were  all  that  he  could  call  his  own  on  that 
side  of  the  North  Sea.  Not  a  boatman  on  the  Scheldt 
would  so  much  as  consider  accepting  three  English 
pennies  in  exchange  for  boat-hire.  In  brief,  it  began 
to  look  as  if  he  were  either  to  swim  or  ...  to 
steal  a  boat. 

Upon  such  slender  threads  of  circumstance  depends 
our  boasted  moral  health.  In  one  fleeting  minute 
Kirkwood's  conception  of  the  law  of  meum  et  tuum, 
its  foundations  already  insidiously  undermined  by  a 
series  of  cumulative  misfortunes,  toppled  crashing  to 
its  fall;  and  was  not. 

He  was  wholly  unconscious  of  the  change.  Be- 
neath him,  in  a  space  between  the  quays  bridged  by 
the  gangway,  a  number  of  rowboats,  a  putative  score, 
lay  moored  for  the  night  and  gently  rubbing  against 
each  other  with  the  soundless  lift  and  fall  of  the 
river.  For  all  that  Kirkwood  could  determine  to 
the  contrary,  the  lot  lay  at  the  mercy  of  the  public ; 
nowhere  about  was  he  able  to  discern  a  figure  in  any- 
thing resembling  a  watchman. 

Without  a  quiver  of  hesitation  —  moments  were 
invaluable,  if  what  he  feared  were  true  —  he  strode 
to  the  gangway,  passed  down,  and  with  absolute  non- 
chalance dropped  into  the  nearest  boat,  stepping  from 
one  to  another  until  he  had  gained  the  outermost. 


272  THE  BLACK  BAG 

To  his  joy  he  found  a  pair  of  oars  stowed  beneath 
the  thwarts. 

If  he  had  paused  to  moralize  —  which  he  didn't  — 
upon  the  discovery,  he  would  have  laid  it  all  at  the 
door  of  his  lucky  star;  and  would  have  been  wrong. 
We  who  have  never  stooped  to  petty  larceny  know 
that  the  oars  had  been  placed  there  at  the  direction 
of  his  evil  genius  bent  upon  facilitating  his  descent 
into  the  avernus  of  crime.  Let  us,  then,  pity  the 
poor  young  man  without  condoning  his  offense. 

Unhitching  the  painter  he  set  one  oar  against  the 
gunwale  of  the  next  boat,  and  with  a  powerful  thrust 
sent  his  own  (let  us  so  call  it  for  convenience)  stern- 
first  out  upon  the  river;  then  sat  him  composedly 
down,  fitted  the  oars  to  their  locks,  and  began  to 
pull  straight  across-stream,  trusting  to  the  current 
to  carry  him  down  to  the  Alethea.  He  had  already 
marked  down  that  vessel's  riding-light;  and  that  not 
without  a  glow  of  gratitude  to  see  it  still  aloft  and 
in  proper  juxtaposition  to  the  river-bank;  proof 
that  it  had  not  moved. 

He  pulled  a  good  oar,  reckoned  his  distance  pret- 
tily, and  shipping  the  blades  at  just  the  right  mo- 
ment, brought  the  little  boat  in  under  the  brigantine's 
counter  with  scarce  a  jar.  An  element  of  surprise 
he  held  essential  to  the  success  of  his  plan,  whatever 
that  might  turn  out  to  be. 

Standing  up,  he  caught  the  brigantine's  after-rail 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     273 

with  both  hands,  one  of  which  held  the  painter  of 
the  purloined  boat,  and  lifted  his  head  above  the  deck 
line.  A  short  survey  of  the  deserted  after-deck  gave 
him  further  assurance.  The  anchor-watch  was  not 
in  sight;  he  may  have  been  keeping  well  forward 
by  Stryker's  instructions,  or  he  may  have  crept  offj 
for  forty  winks.  Whatever  the  reason  for  his  ab- 
sence from  the  post  of  duty,  Kirkwood  was  relieved 
not  to  have  him  to  deal  with;  and  drawing  himself 
gently  in  over  the  rail,  made  the  painter  fast,  and 
stepped  noiselessly  over  toward  the  lighted  oblong 
of  the  companionway.  A  murmur  of  voices  from 
below  comforted  him  with  the  knowledge  that  he  had 
not  miscalculated,  this  time;  at  last  he  stood  within 
striking  distance  of  his  quarry. 

The  syllables  of  his  surname  ringing  clearly  in 
his  ears  and  followed  by  Stryker's  fleering  laugh, 
brought  him  to  a  pause.  He  flushed  hotly  in  the 
darkness ;  the  captain  was  retailing  with  relish  some 
of  his  most  successful  witticisms  at  Kirkwood's  ex- 
pense. ..."  You'd  ought  to  Jve  seed  the  wye 
Je  looked  at  me ! "  concluded  the  raconteur  in  a  gale 
of  mirth. 

Mulready  laughed  with  him,  if  a  little  uncertainly. 
Calendar's  chuckle  was  not  audible,  but  he  broke  the 
pause  that  followed. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said  with  doubting  emphasis. 
"  You  say  you  landed  him  without  a  penny  in  his 


274  THE  BLACK  BAG 

pocket?  I  don't  call  that  a  good  plan  at  all.  Of 
course,  he  ain't  a  factor,  but  .  .  .  Well,  it 
might've  been  as  well  to  give  him  his  fare  home. 
He  might  make  trouble  for  us,  somehow.  ...  I 
don't  mind  telling  you,  Cap'n,  that  you're  an  ass." 

The  tensity  of  certain  situations  numbs  the  sensi- 
bilities. Kirkwood  had  never  in  his  weirdest  dreams 
thought  of  himself  as  an  eavesdropper;  he  did  not 
think  of  himself  as  such  in  the  present  instance;  he 
merely  listened,  edging  nearer  the  skylight,  of  which 
the  wings  were  slightly  raised,  and  keeping  as  far 
as  possible  in  shadow. 

"  Ow,  I  sye ! "  the  captain  was  remonstrating,  ag- 
grieved. "  'Ow  was  I  to  know  'e  didn't  'ave  it  in 
for  you?  First  off,  when  'e  comes  on  board  (I'll 
sye  this  for  'im,  'e's  as  plucky  as  they  myke  'em), 
I  thought  'e  was  from  the  Yard.  Then,  when  I  see 
wot  a  bally  hinnocent  'e  was,  I  mykes  up  my  mind 
'e's  just  some  one  you've  been  ply  in'  one  of  your 
little  gymes  on,  and  'oo  was  lookin'  to  square  'is 
account.  So  I  did  'im  proper." 

"  Evidently,"  assented  Calendar  dryly.  "  You're 
a  bit  of  a  heavy-handed  brute,  Stryker.  Personally 
I'm  kind  of  sorry  for  the  boy ;  he  wasn't  a  bad  sort, 
as  his  kind  runs,  and  he  was  no  fool,  from  what  little 
I  saw  of  him.  .  .  .1  wonder  what  he  wanted." 

"  Possibly,"  Mulready  chimed  in  suavely,  "  you 
can  explain  what  you  wanted  of  him,  in  the  first 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     275 

place.  How  did  you  come  to  drag  him  into  this 
business?  " 

"Oh,  that!"  Calendar  laughed  shortly.  "That 
was  partly  accident,  partly  inspiration.  I  happened 
to  see  his  name  on  the  Pless  register;  he'd  put  him- 
self down  as  from  'Frisco.  I  figured  it  out  that  he 
would  be  next  door  to  broke  and  getting  desperate, 
ready  to  do  anything  to  get  home;  and  thought  we 
might  utilize  him  to  smuggle  some  of  the  stuff  into  the 
States.  Once  before,  if  you'll  remember  —  no;  that 
was  before  we  got  together,  Mulready  —  I  picked  up 
a  fellow-countryman  on  the  Strand.  He  was  down 
and  out,  jumped  at  the  job,  and  we  made  a  neat 
little  wad  on  it." 

"  The  more  fool  you,  to  take  outsiders  into  your 
confidence,"  grumbled  Mulready. 

"Ow?"  interrogated  Calendar,  mimicking  Stryk- 
er's  accent  inimitably.  "  Well,  you've  got  a  heap  to 
learn  about  this  game,  Mul;  about  the  first  thing  is 
that  you  must  trust  Old  Man  Know-it-all,  which  is 
me.  I've  run  more  diamonds  into  the  States,  in  one 
way  or  another,  in  my  time,  than  you  ever  pinched 
out  of  the  shirt-front  of  a  toff  on  the  Empire  Prom., 
before  they  made  the  graft  too  hot  for  you  and  you 
came  to  take  lessons  from  me  in  the  gentle  art  of  liv- 
ing easy." 

"  Oh,  cut  that,  cawn't  you?  " 

"  Delighted,  dear  boy.     .     .     .     One  of  the  first 


276  THE  BLACK  BAG 

principles,  next  to  profiting  by  the  admirable  example 
I  set  you,  is  to  make  the  fellows  in  your  own  line 
trust  you.  Now,  if  this  boy  had  taken  on  with  me, 
I  could  have  got  a  bunch  of  the  sparklers  on  my  mere 
say-so,  from  old  Morganthau  up  on  Finsbury  Pave- 
ment. He  does  a  steady  business  hoodwinking  the 
Customs  for  the  benefit  of  his  American  clients  — 
and  himself.  And  I'd  've  made  a  neat  little  profit 
besides :  something  to  fall  back  on,  if  this  fell  through. 
I  don't  mind  having  two  strings  to  my  bow." 

"  Yes,"  argued  Mulready ;  "  but  suppose  this 
Kirkwood  had  taken  on  with  you  and  then  peached?  " 

"  That's  another  secret ;  you've  got  to  know  your 
man,  be  able  to  size  him  up.  I  called  on  this  chap 
for  that  very  purpose;  but  I  saw  at  a  glance  he 
wasn't  our  man.  He  smelt  a  nigger  in  the  wood- 
pile and  most  politely  told  me  to  go  to  the  devil. 
But  if  he  had  come  in,  he'd  've  died  before  he  squealed. 
I  know  the  breed;  there's  honor  among  gentlemen 
that  knocks  the  honor  of  thieves  higher'n  a  kite,  the 
old  saw  to  the  contrary  —  nothing  doing. 
You  understand  me,  I'm  sure,  Mulready  ?  "  he  con- 
cluded with  envenomed  sweetness. 

"  I  don't  see  yet  how  Kirkwood  got  anything  to 
do  with  Dorothy." 

"  Miss  Calendar  to  you,  Mister  Mulready ! " 
snapped  Calendar.  "There,  there,  now!  Don't  get 
excited.  ...  It  was  when  the  Hallam  passed  me 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     277 

word  that  a  man  from  the  Yard  was  waiting  on  the 
altar  steps  for  me,  that  Kirkwood  came  in.  He  was 
dining  close  by ;  I  went  over  and  worked  on  his  feel- 
ings until  he  agreed  to  take  Dorothy  off  my  hands. 
If  I  had  attempted  to  leave  the  place  with  her,  they'd 
've  spotted  me  for  sure.  .  .  .  My  compliments 
to  you,  Dick  Mulready." 

There  came  the  noise  of  chair  legs  scraped  harshly 
on  the  cabin  deck.  Apparently  Mulready  had  leaped 
to  his  feet  in  a  rage. 

"  I've  told  you  — "  he  began  in  a  voice  thick  with 
passion. 

"  Oh,  sit  down ! "  Calendar  cut  in  contemptuously. 
"  Sit  down,  d'you  hear?  That's  all  over  and  done 
with.  We  understand  each  other  now,  and  you  won't 
try  any  more  monkey-shines.  It's  a  square  deal  and 
a  square  divide,  so  f ar's  I'm  concerned ;  if  we  stick  to- 
gether there'll  be  profit  enough  for  all  concerned.  Sit 
down,  Mul,  and  have  another  slug  of  the  captain's 
bum  rum." 

Although  Mulready  consented  to  be  pacified,  Kirk- 
wood  got  the  impression  that  the  man  was  far  gone 
in  drink.  A  moment  later  he  heard  him  growl  "  Chin- 
chin  !  "  antiphonal  to  the  captain's  "  Cheer-o !  " 

"  Now,  then,"  Calendar  proposed,  "  Mr.  Kirkwood 
aside  —  peace  be  with  him  ! —  let's  get  down  to  cases." 

"  Wot's  the  row?  "  asked  the  captain. 

"  The  row,  Cap'n,  is  the  Hallam  female,  who  has 


278  THE  BLACK  BAG 

unexpectedly  shown  up  in  Antwerp,  we  have  reason 
to  believe  with  malicious  intent  and  a  private  de- 
tective to  add  to  the  gaiety  of  nations." 

"  Wot's  the  odds  ?  She  carn't  'urt  us  without  lyin' 
iup  trouble  for  'erself." 

"  Damn  little  consolation  to  us  when  we're  work- 
ing it  out  in  Dartmoor." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,"  grunted  Mulready  surlily. 

"  I  do,"  returned  Calendar  easily ;  "  we're  both  in 
the  shadow  of  Dartmoor,  Mul,  my  boy ;  since  you 
choose  to  take  the  reference  as  personal.  Sing  Sing, 
however,  yawns  for  me  alone;  it's  going  to  keep  on 
yawning,  too,  unless  I  miss  my  guess.  I  love  my 
native  land  most  to  death,  but  .  .  ." 

"  Ow,  blow  that !  "  interrupted  the  captain  irritably. 
"  Let's  'ear  about  the  'Allam.  Wot  're  you  afryd 
of?" 

"  'Fraid  she'll  set  up  a  yell  when  she  finds  out  we're 
planting  the  loot,  Cap'n.  She's  just  that  vindictive; 
you'd  think  she'd  be  satisfied  with  her  end  of  the 
stick,  but  you  don't  know  the  Hallam.  That  milk- 
and-water  offspring  of  hers  is  the  apple  of  her  eye, 
and  Freddie's  going  to  collar  the  whole  shooting- 
match  or  madam  will  kick  over  the  traces." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  she's  queered  us  here.  We  can't  do  any- 
thing if  my  lady  is  going  to  camp  on  our  trail  and 
tell  everybody  we're  shady  customers,  can  ^ve?  The 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     279 

question  now  before  the  board  is :  Where  now, —  and 
how?  " 

"  Amsterdam,"  Mulready  chimed  in.  "  I  told  you 
that  in  the  beginning." 

"But  how?"  argued  Calendar.  "The  Lord 
knows  I'm  willing  but  ...  we  can't  go  by  rail, 
thanks  to  the  Hallam.  We've  got  to  lose  her  first  of 
all." 

"  But  wot  I'm  arskin'  is,  wot's  the  matter  with  — " 

"The  Alethea,  Cap'n?  Nothing,  so  far  as  Dick 
and  I  are  concerned.  But  my  dutiful  daughter  is 
prejudiced;  she's  been  so  long  without  proper  pater- 
nal discipline,"  Calendar  laughed,  "  that  she's  rather 
high-spirited.  Of  course  I  might  overcome  her  ob- 
jections, but  the  girl's  no  fool,  and  every  ounce  of 
pressure  I  bring  to  bear  just  now  only  helps  make 
her  more  restless  and  suspicious." 

"  You  leave  her  to  me,"  Mulready  interposed,  with 
a  brutal  laugh.  "  I'll  guarantee  to  get  her  aboard, 
or  .  .  ." 

"  Drop  it,  Dick !  "  Calendar  advised  quietly.  "  And 
go  a  bit  easy  with  that  bottle  for  five  minutes,  can't 
;-ou?  " 

"  Well,  then,"  Stryker  resumed,  apparently  con- 
curring in  Calendar's  attitude,  "  w'y  don't  one  of  you 
tyke  the  stuff,  go  off  quiet  and  dispose  of  it  to  a 
proper  fence,  and  come  back  to  divide.  I  don't  see 
w'y  that—" 


280  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  Naturally  you  wouldn't,"  chuckled  Calendar. 
"  Few  people  besides  the  two  of  us  understand  the 
depth  of  affection  existing  between  Dick,  here,  and 
me.  We  just  can't  bear  to  get  out  of  sight  of  each 
other.  We're  sure  inseparable  —  since  night  before 
hast.  Odd,  isn't  it?  " 

"  You  drop  it ! "  snarled  Mulready,  in  accents  so 
ugly  that  the  listener  was  startled.  "  Enough's 
enough  and  — ' 

"  There,  there,  Dick !  All  right ;  I'll  behave,"  Cal- 
endar soothed  him.  "  We'll  forget  and  say  no  more 
about  it." 

"Well,  see  you  don't." 

"  But  'as  either  of  you  a  plan  ?  "  persisted  Stryker. 

"  I  have,"  replied  Mulready ;  "  and  it's  the  sim- 
plest and  best,  if  you  could  only  make  this  long-lost 
parent  here  see  it." 

"Wot   is   it?" 

Mulready  seemed  to  ignore  Calendar  and  address 
himself  to  the  captain.  He  articulated  with  some  dif- 
ficulty, slurring  his  words  to  the  point  of  indistinct- 
ness at  times. 

"  Simple  enough,"  he  propounded  solemnly. 
*'  We've  got  the  gladstone  bag  here ;  Miss  Dolly's 
at  the  hotel  —  that's  her  papa's  bright  notion ;  he 
thinks  she's  to  be  trusted  .  .  .  Now  then,  what's 
the  matter  with  weighing  anchor  and  slipping  quietly 
out  to  sea  ?  " 


'  A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     281 

"  Leavin'  the  dootiful  darter?  " 

"  Cert'n'y.  She's  only  a  drag  any  way.  'Better 
off  without  her.  .  .  .  Then  we  can  wait  our  time 
and  get  highest  market  prices  — 

"  You  forget,  Dick,"  Calendar  put  it,  "  that  there's 
a  thousand  in  it  for  each  of  us  if  she's  kept  out  of 
England  for  six  weeks.  A  thousand's  five  thousand 
in  the  land  I  hail  from ;  I  can  use  five  thousand  in 
my  business." 

"  Why  can't  you  be  content  with  what  you've 
got?"  demanded  Mulready  wrathfully. 

"  Because  I'm  a  seventh  son  of  a  seventh  son ;  I  can 
see  an  inch  or  two  beyond  my  nose.  If  Dorothy  ever 
finds  her  way  back  to  England  she'll  spoil  one  of 
the  finest  fields  of  legitimate  graft  I  ever  licked  my 
lips  to  look  at.  The  trouble  with  you,  Mul,  is  you're 
too  high-toned.  You  want  to  play  the  swell  mobs- 
man  from  post  to  finish.  A  quick  touch  and  a  clean 
getaway  for  yours.  Now,  that's  all  right ;  that  has 
its  good  points,  but  you  don't  want  to  underestimate 
the  advantages  of  a  good  blackmailing  connection. 
If  I  can  keep  Dorothy  quiet  long  enough,  I 
look  to  the  Hallam  and  precious  Freddie  to  be  a  great 
comfort  to  me  in  my  old  age." 

"  Then,  for  God's  sake,"  cried  Mulready,  "  go  to 
the  hotel,  get  your  brat  by  the  scruff  of  her  pretty 
neck  and  drag  her  aboard.  Let's  get  out  of  this." 

"  I  won't,"  returned  Calendar  inflexibly. 


282  THE  BLACK  BAG 

i 

The  dispute  continued,  but  the  listener  had  heard 
enough.  He  had  to  get  away  and  think,  could  no 
longer  listen ;  indeed,  the  voices  of  the  three  black- 
guards below  came  but  indistinctly  to  his  ears,  as  if 
from  a  distance.  He  was  sick  at  heart  and  ablaze 
with  indignation  by,  turns.  Unconsciously  he  was 
trembling  violently  in  every  limb;  swept  by  alternate 
waves  of  heat  and  cold,  feverish  one  minute,  shiver- 
ing the  next.  All  of  which  phenomena  were  due  solely 
to  the  rage  that  welled  inside  his  heart. 

Stealthily  he  crept  away  to  the  rail,  to  stand  grasp- 
ing it  and  staring  across  the  water  with  unseeing  eyes 
at  the  gay  old  city  twinkling  back  with  her  thousand 
eyes  of  light.  The  cool  night  breeze,  sweeping  down 
unhindered  over  the  level  Netherlands  from  the  bleak 
North  Sea,  was  comforting  to  his  throbbing  temples. 
By  degrees  his  head  cleared,  his  rioting  pulses  sub- 
sided, he  could  think ;  and  he  did. 

Over  there,  across  the  water,  in  the  dingy  and  dis- 
reputable Hotel  du  Commerce,  Dorothy  waited  in  her 
room,  doubtless  the  prey  of  unnumbered  nameless  ter- 
rors, while  aboard  the  brigantine  her  fate  was  being 
decided  by  a  council  of  three  unspeakable  scoundrels, 
one  of  whom,  professing  himself  her  father,  openly 
declared  his  intention  of  using  her  to  further  his  self- 
ish and  criminal  ends. 

His  first  and  natural  thought,  to  steal  away  to  her 
and  induce  her  to  accompany  him  back  to  England, 


A  PRIMER  OF  PROGRESSIVE  CRIME     283 

Kirkwood  perforce  discarded.  He  could  have  wept 
over  the  realization  of  his  unqualified  impotency.  He 
had  no  money, —  not  even  cab-fare  from  the  hotel  to 
the  railway  station.  Something  subtler,  more  crafty, 
had  to  be  contrived  to  meet  the  emergency.  And  there 
was  one  way,  one  only ;  he  could  see  none  other.  Tem- 
porarily he  must  make  himself  one  of  the  company 
of  her  enemies,  force  himself  upon  them,  ingratiate 
himself  into  their  good  graces,  gain  their  confidence, 
then,  when  opportunity  offered,  betray  them.  And 
the  power  to  make  them  tolerate  him,  if  not  receive 
him  as  a  fellow,  the  knowledge  of  them  and  their  plans 
that  they  had  unwittingly  given  him,  was  his. 

And  Dorothy  was  waiting. 

He  swung  round  and  without  attempting  to  muffle 
his  footfalls  strode  toward  the  companionway.  He 
must  pretend  he  had  just  come  aboard. 

Subconsciously  he  had  been  aware,  during  his  time 
of  pondering,  that  the  voices  in  the  cabin  had  been 
steadily  gaining  in  volume,  rising  louder  and  yet 
more  loud,  Mulready's  ominous,  drink-blurred  accents 
dominating  the  others.  There  was  a  quarrel  afoot; 
as  soon  as  he  gave  it  heed,  Kirkwood  understood  that 
Mulready,  in  the  madness  of  his  inflamed  brain,  was 
forcing  the  issue  while  Calendar  sought  vainly  to 
calm  and  soothe  him. 

The  American  arrived  at  the  head  of  the  com- 
panionway at  a  critical  juncture.  As  he  moved  to 


284  THE  BLACK  BAG 

descend  some  low,  cool-toned  retort  of  Calendar's 
seemed  to  enrage  his  confederate  beyond  reason.  He 
yelped  aloud  with  wrath,  sprang  to  his  feet,  knocking 
over  a  chair,  and  leaping  back  toward  the  foot  of  the 
steps,  flashed  an  adroit  hand  behind  him  and  found 
his  revolver. 

"  I've  stood  enough  from  you ! "  he  screamed,  his 
voice  oddly  clear  in  that  moment  of  insanity. 
*'  You've  played  with  me  as  long  as  you  will,  you 
hulking  American  hog!  And  now  I'm  going  to 
show  — " 

As  he  held  his  fire  to  permit  his  denunciation  to 
bite  home,  Kirkwood,  appalled  to  find  himself  stand- 
ing on  the  threshold  of  a  tragedy,  gathered  himself 
together  and  launched  through  the  air,  straight  for 
the  madman's  shoulders. 

As  they  went  down  together,  sprawling,  Mulready's 
head  struck  against  a  transom  and  the  revolver  fell 
from  his  limp  fingers. 


XIV 

STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS 

Prepared  as  he  had  been  for  the  shock,  Kirkwood 
•was  able  to  pick  himself  up  quickly,  uninjured,  Mul- 
ready's revolver  in  his  grasp. 

On  his  feet,  straddling  Mulready's  insentient  body, 
he  confronted  Calendar  and  Stryker.  The  face  of 
the  latter  was  a  sickly  green,  the  gift  of  his  fright. 
The  former  seemed  coldly  composed,  already  recover- 
ing from  his  surprise  and  bringing  his  wits  to  bear 
upon  the  new  factor  which  had  been  so  uncere- 
moniously injected  into  the  situation. 

Standing,  but  leaning  heavily  upon  a  hand  that 
rested  flat  on  the  table,  in  the  other  he  likewise  held 
a  revolver,  which  he  had  apparently  drawn  in  self-de- 
fense, at  the  crisis  of  Mulready's  frenzy.  Its  muzzle 
was  deflected.  He  looked  Kirkwood  over  with  a  cool 
gray  eye,  the  color  gradually  returning  to  his  fat, 
clean-shaven  cheeks,  replacing  the  pardonable  pallor 
which  had  momentarily  rested  thereon. 

As  for  Kirkwood,  he  had  covered  the  fat  adventurer 
before  he  knew  it.  Stryker,  who  had  been  standing 
immediately  in  the  rear  of  Calendar,  immediately 

285 


286  THE  BLACK  BAG 

cowered  and  cringed  to  find  himself  in  the  line  of  fire. 

Of  the  three  conscious  men  in  the  brigantine's 
cabin,  Calendar  was  probably  the  least  confused  or 
excited.  Stryker  was  palpably  unmanned.  Kirk- 
wood  was  tingling  with  a  sense  of  mastery,  but  col- 
lected and  rapidly  revolving  the  combinations  for  the 
reversed  conditions  which  had  been  brought  about  by] 
Mulready's  drunken  folly.  His  elation  was  apparent 
in  his  shining,  boyish  eyes,  as  well  as  in  the  bright 
color  that  glowed  in  his  cheeks.  When  he  decided 
to  speak  it  was  with  rapid  enunciation,  but  clearly  and 
concisely. 

"  Calendar,"  he  began,  "  if  a  single  shot  is  fired 
about  this  vessel  the  river  police  will  be  buzzing 
round  your  ears  in  a  brace  of  shakes." 

The  fat  adventurer  nodded  assent,  his  eyes  con- 
tracting. 

"  Very  well ! "  continued  Kirkwood  brusquely. 
"  You  must  know  that  I  have  personally  nothing  to 
fear  from  the  police;  if  arrested,  I  wouldn't  be  de- 
tained a  day.  On  the  other  hand,  you  .  .  . 
Hand  me  that  pistol,  Calendar,  butt  first,  please. 
Look  sharp,  my  man !  If  you  don't  .  .  .  " 

He  left  the  ellipsis  to  be  filled  in  by  the  corpulent 
blackguard's  intelligence.  The  latter,  gray  eyes 
still  intent  on  the  younger  man's  face,  wavered, 
plainly  impressed,  but  still  wondering. 

"  Quick !     I'm  not  patient  to-night     .     .     .  " 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS  287 

No  longer  was  Calendar  of  two  minds.  In  the  face 
of  Kirkwood's  attitud"  there  was  but  one  course  to 
be  followed :  that  of  obedience.  Calendar  surrendered 
an  untenable  position  as  gracefully  as  could  be  wished. 

"  I  guess  you  know  what  you  mean  by  this,"  he 
said,  tendering  the  weapon  as  per  instructions ;  "  I'm 
doggoned  if  I  do.  .  .  .  You'll  allow  a  certain 
latitude  in  consideration  of  my  relief;  I  can't  say  we 
were  anticipating  this  —  ah  —  Heaven-sent  visita- 
tion." 

Accepting  the  revolver  with  his  left  hand  and  set- 
tling his  forefinger  on  the  trigger,  Kirkwood  beamed 
with  pure  enjoyment.  He  found  the  deference  of  the 
older  man,  tempered  Ihough  it  was  by  his  indomitable 
swagger,  refreshing  in  the  extreme. 

"  A  little  appreciation  isn't  exactly  out  of  place, 
come  to  think  of  it,"  he  commented,  adding,  with  an 
eye  for  the  captain :  "  Stryker,  you  bold,  bad  butter- 
fly, have  you  got  a  gun  concealed  about  your  unclean 
person?  " 

The  captain  shook  visibly  with  contrition.  "  No, 
Mr.  Kirkwood,"  he  managed  to  reply  in  a  voice 
singularly  lacking  in  his  wonted  bluster. 

"  Say  '  sir  ' !  "  suggested  Kirkwood. 

"  No,  Mr.  Kirkwood,  sir,"  amended  Stryker 
eagerly. 

"  Now  come  round  here  and  let's  have  a  look  at 
you.  Please  stay  where  you  are,  Calendar. 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

Why,  Captain,  you're  shivering  from  head  to  foot! 
Not  ill  are  you,  you  wag?  Step  over  to  the  table 
there,  Stryker,  and  turn  out  your  pockets ;  turn  'em 
incide  out  and  let's  see  what  you  carry  in  the  way  of 
offensive  artillery.  And,  Stryker,  don't  be  rash; 
don't  do  anything  you'd  be  sorry  for  afterwards." 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  mumbled  the  captain,  meekly 
shambling  toward  the  table,  and,  in  his  anxiety  to 
give  no  cause  for  unpleasantness,  beginning  to  empty 
Lis  pockets  on  the  way. 

"  Don't  forget  the  '  sir,*  Stryker.  And,  Stryker, 
if  you  happen  to  think  of  anything  in  the  line  of  one 
of  your  merry  quips  or  jests,  don't  strain  yourself 
holding  in ;  get  it  right  off  your  chest,  and  you'll  feel 
better." 

Kirkwood  chuckled,  in  high  conceit  with  himself, 
watching  Calendar  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  but 
with  his  attention  centered  on  the  infinitely  diverting 
spectacle  afforded  by  Stryker,  whose  predacious  hands 
were  trembling  violently  as,  one  by  one,  they  brought 
to  light  the  articles  of  which  he  had  despoiled  his 
erstwhile  victim. 

"  Come,  come,  Stryker !  Surely  you  can  think  of 
something  witty,  surely  you  haven't  exhausted  the 
possibilities  of  that  almanac  joke !  Couldn't  you  ring 
another  variation  on  the  lunatic  wheeze?  Don't 
hesitate  out  of  consideration  for  me,  Captain;  I'm 
joke  proof  —  perhaps  you've  noticed?  " 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS          289 

Stryker  turned  upon  him  an  expression  at  once 
ludicrous,  piteous  and  hateful.  "  That's  all,  sir,"  he 
snarled,  displaying  his  empty  palms  in  token  of  his 
absolute  tractability. 

"  Good  enough.  Now  right  about  face  —  quick ! 
Your  back's  prettier  than  your  face,  and  besides,  I 
want  to  know  whether  your  hip-pockets  are  empty. 
I've  heard  it's  the  habit  of  you  gentry  to  pack  guns 
in  your  clothes.  .  .  .  None?  That's  all  right, 
then.  Now  roost  on  the \ransom,  over  there  in  the 
corner,  Stryker,  and  don't  move.  Don't  let  me  hear 
a  word  from  you.  Understand  ?  " 

Submissively  the  captain  retired  to  the  indicated 
spot.  Kirkwood  turned  to  Calendar;  of  whose  atti- 
tude, however,  he  had  not  been  for  an  instant  un- 
mindful. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Calendar?  "  he  sug- 
gested pleasantly.  "  Forgive  me  for  keeping  you 
waiting." 

For  his  own  part,  as  the  adventurer  dropped  pas- 
sively into  his  chair,  Kirkwood  stepped  over  Mul- 
ready  and  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the  cabin,  at  the 
same  time  thrusting  Calendar's  revolver  into  his  own 
coat  pocket.  The  other,  Mulready's,  he  nursed  sig- 
nificantly with  both  hands,  while  he  stood  temporarily 
quiet,  surveying  the  fleshy  face  of  the  prime  factor 
in  the  intrigue. 

A  quaint,  grim  smile  played  about  the  American's 


290  THE  BLACK  BAG 

lips,  a  smile  a  little  contemptuous,  more  than  a  little 
inscrutable.  In  its  light  Calendar  grew  restive  and 
lost  something  of  his  assurance.  His  feet  shifted  un- 
easily beneath  the  table  and  his  dark  eyes  wavered, 
evading  Kirkwood's.  At  length  he  seemed  to  find 
the  suspense  unendurable. 

"Well?"  he  demanded  testily.  "What  d'you 
want  of  me?  " 

"  I  was  just  wondering  at  you,  Calendar.     In  the 
last   few    days   you've    giten   me   enough   cause   td  • 
wonder,  as  you'll  admit." 

The  adventurer  plucked  up  spirit,  deluded  by  Kirk- 
wood's  pacific  tone.  "  I  wonder  at  you,  Mr.  Kirk- 
wood,"  he  retorted.  "  It  was  good  of  you  to  save  my 
life  and—" 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that !  Perhaps  it  had  been 
more  humane — " 

Calendar  owned  the  touch  with  a  wry  grimace. 
"  But  I'm  damned  if  I  understand  this  high-handed 
attitude  of  yours ! "  he  concluded  heatedly. 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  Kirkwood's  humor  became  less  ap- 
parent, the  smile  sobering.  "  You  will,"  he  told  the 
man,  adding  abruptly :  "  Calendar,  where's  your 
daughter?  " 

The     restless     eyes     sought     the     companionway. 

"  Dorothy,"  the  man  lied  spontaneously,  without  a 
tremor,  "is  with  friends  in  England.  Why?  Did 
you  want  to  see  her?  " 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS 

"  I  rather  expected  to." 

"  Well,  I  thought  it  best  to  leave  her  home,  after 
all." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  she's  in  safe  hands,"  commented 
Kirkwood. 

The  adventurer's  glance  analyzed  his  face.  "  Ah," 
he  said  slowly,  "  I  see.  You  followed  me  on  Doro- 
thy's account,  Mr.  Kirkwood?  " 

"  Partly ;  partly  on  my.  own.  Let  me  put  it  to 
-you  fairly.  When  you  forced  yourself  upon  me,  back 
there  in  London,  you  offered  me  some  sort  of  employ- 
ment; when  I  rejected  it,  you  used  me  to  your  advan- 
tage for  the  furtherance  of  your  purposes  (which  I 
confess  I  don't  understand),  and  made  me  miss  my 
steamer.  Naturally,  when  I  found  myself  penniless 
and  friendless  in  a  strange  country,  I  thought  again 
of  your  offer;  and  tried  to  find  you,  to  accept  it." 

"  Despite  the  fact  that  you're  an  honest  man,  Kirk- 
wood ?  "  The  fat  lips  twitched  with  premature  en- 
joyment. 

"  I'm  a  desperate  man  to-night,  whatever  I  may 
have  been  yesterday."  The  young  man's  tone  was 
both  earnest  and  convincing.  "  I  think  I've  shown 
that  by  my  pertinacity  in  hunting  you  down." 

"  Well  —  yes."     Calendar's  thick  fingers  caressed 
his  lips,  trying  to  hide  the  dawning  smile. 
"  Is  that  offer  still  open?  " 
His  nonchalance  completely  restored  by  the  very] 


292  THE  BLACK  BAG 

naivete  of  the  proposition,  Calendar  laughed  openly 
and  with  a  trace  of  irony.  The  episode  seemed  to  be 
turning  out  better  than  he  had  anticipated.  Gently 
his  mottled  fat  fingers  played  about  his  mouth  and 
chins  as  he  looked  Kirkwood  up  and  down. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  replied,  "  that  it  isn't  —  now. 
You're  too  late,  Kirkwood ;  I've  made  other  arrange- 
ments." 

"  Too  bad."  Kirkwood's  eyes  narrowed.  "  You 
force  me  to  harsher  measures,  Calendar." 

Genuinely  diverted,  the  adventurer  laughed  a  sec- 
ond time,  tipping  back  in  his  chair,  his  huge  frame 
shaking  with  ponderous  enjoyment.  "  Don't  do  any- 
thing you'd  be  sorry  for,"  he  parroted,  sarcastical,  the 
young  man's  recent  admonition  to  the  captain. 

"  No  fear,  Calendar.  I'm  just  going  to  use  my 
advantage,  which  you  won't  dispute," —  the  pistol 
described  an  eloquent  circle,  gleaming  in  the  lamplight 
— "  to  levy  on  you  a  little  legitimate  blackmail.  Don't 
be  alarmed ;  I  shan't  hit  you  any  harder  than  I  have 
to." 

"  What? "  stammered  Calendar,  astonished. 
"  What  in  hell  are  you  driving  at?  " 

"  Recompense  for  my  time  and  trouble.  You've 
cost  me  a  pretty  penny,  first  and  last,  with  your  nasty 
little  conspiracy  —  whatever  it's  all  about.  Now, 
needing  the  money,  I  purpose  getting  some  of  it  back. 
I  shan't  precisely  rob  you,  but  this  is  a  hold-up,  all 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS          293 

right.  .  .  .  Stryker,"  reproachfully,  "  I  don't 
see  my  pearl  pin." 

"  I  got  it  'ere,"  responded  the  sailor  hastily,  fum- 
bling with  his  tie. 

"  Give  it  me,  then."  Kirkwood  held  out  his  hand 
and  received  the  trinket.  Then,  moving  over  to  the 
table,  the  young  man,  while  abating  nothing  of  his 
watchfulness,  sorted  out  his  belongings  from  the  mass 
of  odds  and  ends  Stryker  had  disgorged.  The  tale 
of  them  was  complete ;  the  captain  had  obeyed  him 
faithfully.  Kirkwood  looked  up,  pleased. 

"  Now  see  here,  Calendar ;  this  collection  of  truck 
that  I  was  robbed  of  by  this  resurrected  Joe  Miller 
here,  cost  me  upwards  of  a  hundred  and  fifty.  I'm 
going  to  sell  it  to  you  at  a  bargain  —  say  fifty  dol- 
lars, two  hundred  and  fifty  francs." 

"The  juice  you  are!"  Calendar's  eyes  opened 
wide,  partly  in  admiration.  "  D'you  realize  that 
this  is  next  door  to  highway  robbery,  my  young 
friend?  " 

"  High-seas  piracy,  if  you  prefer,"  assented  Kirk- 
wood with  entire  equanimity.  "  I'm  going  to  have 
the  money,  and  you're  going  to  give  it  up.  The 
transaction  by  any  name  would  smell  no  sweeter,  Cal- 
endar. Come  —  fork  over !  " 

"  And  if  I  refuse?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  refuse,  if  I  were  you." 

"Why  not?" 


294  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  The  consequences  would  be  too  painful." 
"  You  mean  you'd  puncture  me  with  that  gun?  " 
"  Not  unless  you  attack  or  attempt  to  follow  me.     I 
jinean  to  say  that  the  Belgian  police  are  notoriously  a 
•  most  efficient  body,  and  that  I'll  make  it  my  duty  and 
pleasure  to  introduce  'em  to  you,  if  you  refuse.     But 
you  won't,"  Kirkwood  added  soothingly,  "  will  you, 
Calendar?  " 

"  No."  The  adventurer  had  become  suddenly 
thoughtful.  "  No,  I  won't.  'Glad  to  oblige  you." 

He  tilted  his  chair  still  farther  back,  straightening 
out  his  elephantine  legs,  inserted  one  fat  hand  into  his 
trouser  pocket  and  with  some  difficulty  extracted  a 
combined  bill-fold  and  coin-purse,  at  once  heavy  with 
gold  and  bulky  with  notes.  Moistening  thumb  and 
forefinger,  "  How'll  you  have  it?  "  he  inquired  with 
a  lift  of  his  cunning  eyes ;  and  when  Kirkwood  had 
advised  him,  slowly  counted  out  four  fifty-franc  notes, 
placed  them  near  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  weighted 
them  with  five  ten-franc  pieces.  And,  "  'That  all?  " 
,he  asked,  replacing  the  pocket-book. 

"  That  will  be  about  all.  I  leave  you  presently  to 
your  unholy  devices,  you  and  that  gay  dog,  over 
there."  The  captain  squirmed,  reddening.  "  Just 
by  way  of  precaution,  however,  I'll  ask  you  to  wait  in 
here  till  I'm  off."  Kirkwood  stepped  backwards  to 
the  door  of  the  captain's  room,  opened  it  and  removed 
the  key  from  the  inside.  "  Please  take  Mulready  in 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS          295 

with  you,"  he  continued.  "  By  the  time  you  get  out, 
I'll  be  clear  of  Antwerp.  Please  don't  think  of  re- 
fusing me, —  I  really  mean  it !  " 

The  latter  clause  came  sharply  as  Calendar  seemed 
to  hesitate,  his  weary,  wary  eyes  glimmering  with 
doubt.  Kirkwood,  watching  him  as  a  cat  her  prey, 
intercepted  a  lightning-swift  sidelong  glance  that 
shifted  from  his  face  to  the  port  lockers,  forward. 
But  the  fat  adventurer  was  evidently  to  a  consider- 
able degree  deluded  by  the  very  child-like  simplicity  of 
Kirkwood's  attitude.  If  the  possibility  that  his  alter- 
cation with  Mulready  had  been  overheard,  crossed 
his  mind,  Calendar  had  little  choice  other  than  to  ac- 
cept the  chance.  Either  way  he  moved,  the  risk  was 
great ;  if  he  refused  to  be  locked  in  the  captain's 
room,  there  was  the  danger  of  the  police,  to  which 
Kirkwood  had  convincingly  drawn  attention ;  if  he 
accepted  the  temporary  imprisonment,  he  took  a  risk 
with  the  gladstone  bag.  On  the  other  hand,  he  had 
estimated  Kirkwood's  honesty  as  thorough-going, 
from  their  first  interview ;  he  had  appraised  him  as  a 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  honor.  And  he  did  not  be- 
lieve the  young  man  knew,  after  all.  .  .  .  Per-) 
plexed,  at  length  he  chose  the  smoother  way,  and  with 
an  indulgent  lifting  of  eyebrows  and  fat  shoulders, 
rose  and  waddled  over  to  Mulready. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  he  conceded  with  deep  toleration  in, 
his  tone  for  the  idiosyncrasies  of  youth.  "  It's  all  the 


296  THE  BLACK  BAG 

same  to  me,  beau."  He  laughed  a  nervous  laugh. 
"  Come  along  and  lend  us  a  hand,  Stryker." 

The  latter  glanced  timidly  at  Kirkwood,  his  eyes 
pleading  for  leave  to  move ;  which  Kirkwood  accorded 
with  an  imperative  nod  and  a  fine  flourish  of  the  revol- 
ver. Promptly  the  captain  sprang  to  Calendar's 
assistance ;  and  between  the  two  of  them,  the  one  tak- 
ing Mulready's  head,  the  other  his  feet,  they  lugged 
him  quickly  into  the  stuffy  little  state-room.  Kirk- 
wood, watching  and  following  to  tJ^e  threshold,  in- 
serted the  key. 

"  One  word  more,"  he  counseled,  a  hand  on  the  knob. 
"  Don't  forget  I've  warned  you  what'll  happen  if 
you  try  to  break  even  with  me." 

"  Never  fear,  little  one ! "  Calendar's  laugh  was 
nervously  cheerful.  "  The  Lord  knows  you're  wel- 
come." 

"  Thank  you  'most  to  death,"  responded  Kirk- 
wood politely.  "  Good-by  —  and  good-by  to  you, 
Stryker.  'Glad  to  have  humored  your  desire  to  meet 
me  soon  again." 

Kirkwood,  turning  the  key  in  the  lock,  withdrew  it 
and  dropped  it  on  the  cabin  table ;  at  the  same  time 
he  swept  into  his  pocket  the  money  he  had  extorted  of 
Calendar.  Then  he  paused  an  instant,  listening; 
from  the  captain's  room  came  a  sound  of  murmurs  and 
scuffling.  He  debated  what  they  were  about  in  there 
—  but  time  pressed.  Not  improbably  they  were 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS          297 

crowding  for  place  at  the  keyhole,  he  reflected,  as  he 
crossed  to  the  port  locker  forward. 

He  had  its  lid  up  in  a  twinkling,  and  in  another 
had  lifted  out  the  well-remembered  black  gladstone 
bag. 

This  seems  to  have  been  his  first  compound  larceny. 

As  if  stimulated  by  some  such  reflection  he  sprang 
for  the  companionway,  dropping  the  lid  of  the  locker 
with  a  bang  which  must  have  been  excruciatingly  edi- 
fying to  the  men  in  the  captain's  room.  Whatever 
their  emotions,  the  bang  was  mocked  by  a  mighty  kick, 
shaking  the  door;  which,  Kirkwood  reflected,  opened 
outward  and  was  held  only  by  the  frailest  kind  of  a 
lock :  it  would  not  hold  long. 

Spurred  onward  by  a  storm  of  curses,  Stryker's 
voice  chanting  infuriated  cacophony  with  Calendar's, 
Kirkwood  leapt  up  the  companionway  even  as  the 
second  tremendous  kick  threatened  to  shatter  the  pan- 
els. Heart  in  mouth,  a  chill  shiver  of  guilt  running 
up  and  down  his  spine,  he  gained  the  deck,  cast  loose 
the  painter,  drew  in  his  rowboat,  and  dropped  over 
the  side;  then,  the  gladstone  bag  nestling  between 
his  feet,  sat  down  and  bent  to  the  oars. 

And  doubts  assailed  him,  pressing  close  upon  the 
ebb  of  his  excitement  —  doubts  and  fears  innumer- 
able. 

There  was  no  longer  a  distinction  to  be  drawn  be- 
tween himself  and  Calendar;  no  more  could  he  esteem 


298  THE  BLACK  BAG 

i 

himself  a  better  and  more  honest  man  than  that  ac- 
complished swindler.  He  was  not  advised  as  to  the 
Belgian  code,  but  English  law,  he  understood,  made 
no  allowance  for  the  good  intent  of  those  caught  in 
possession  of  stolen  property ;  though  he  was  acting 
with  the  most  honorable  motives  in  the  world,  the  law, 
if  he  came  within  its  cognizance,  would  undoubtedly 
place  him  on  Calendar's  plane  and  judge  him  by  the 
same  standard.  To  all  intents  and  purposes  he  was 
a  thief,  and  thief  he  would  remain  until  the  glad- 
stone  bag  with  its  contents  should  be  restored  to  its 
rightful  owner. 

Voluntarily,  then,  he  had  stepped  from  the  ranks 
of  the  hunters  to  those  of  the  hunted.  He  now  feared 
police  interference  as  abjectly  as  did  Calendar  and  his 
set  of  rogues ;  and  Kirkwood  felt  wholly  warranted  in 
assuming  that  the  adventurer,  with  his  keen  intelli- 
gence, would  not  handicap  himself  by  ignoring  this 
point.  Indeed,  if  he  were  to  be  judged  by  what 
Kirkwood  had  inferred  of  his  character,  Calendar 
would  let  nothing  whatever  hinder  him,  neither  fear  of 
bodily  hurt  nor  danger  of  apprehension  at  the  hands 
of  the  police,  from  making  a  determined  and  savage 
play  to  regain  possession  of  his  booty. 

Well!  (Kirkwood  set  his  mouth  savagely)  Calen- 
dar should  have  a  run  for  his  money ! 

For  the  present  he  could  compliment  himself  with 
the  knowledge  that  he  had  outwitted  the  rogues,  had 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS          299 

lifted  the  jewels  and  probably  two-thirds  of  their  arm- 
ament; he  had  also  the  start,  the  knowledge  of  their 
criminal  guilt  and  intent,  and  his  own  plans,  to  com- 
fort him.  As  for  the  latter,  he  did  not  believe  that 
Calendar  would  immediately  fathom  them ;  so  he  took 
heart  of  grace  and  tugged  at  the  oars  with  a  will, 
pulling  directly  for  the  city  and  permitting  the  cur- 
rent to  drift  him  down-stream  at  its  pleasure.  There 
could  be  no  more  inexcusable  folly  than  to  return  to 
the  Quai  Steen  landing  and  (possibly)  the  arms  of 
the  despoiled  boat-owner. 

At  first  he  could  hear  crash  after  splintering  crash 
sounding  dully  muffled  from  the  cabin  of  the  Alethea: 
a  veritable  devil's  tattoo  beaten  out  by  the  feet  of  the 
prisoners.  Evidently  the  fastening  was  serving  him 
better  than  he  had  dared  hope.  But  as  the  black 
rushing  waters  widened  between  boat  and  brigantine, 
the  clamor  aboard  the  latter  subsided,  indicating  that 
Calendar  and  Stryker  had  broken  out  or  been  released 
by  the  crew.  In  ignorance  as  to  whether  he  were  seen 
or  being  pursued,  Kirkwood  pulled  on,  winning  in  un- 
der the  shadow  of  the  quais  and  permitting  the  boat  to 
drift  down  to  a  lonely  landing  on  the  edge  of  the 
dockyard  quarter  of  Antwerp. 

Here  alighting,  he  made  the  boat  fast  and,  sooth- 
ing his  conscience  with  a  surmise  that  its  owner  would 
find  it  there  in  the  morning,  strode  swiftly  over  to 
the  tram-line  that  runs  along  the  embankment,  swung 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

aboard  an  adventitious  car  and  broke  his  first  ten- 
franc  piece  in  order  to  pay  his  fare. 

The  car  made  a  leisurely  progress  up  past  the  old 
Steen  castle  and  the  Quai  landing,  Kirkwood  sitting 
quietly,  the  gladstone  bag  under  his  hand,  a  searching 
gaze  sweeping  the  waterside.  No  sign  of  the  ad- 
venturers rewarded  him,  but  it  was  now  all  chance, 
all  hazard.  He  had  no  more  heart  for  confidence. 

They  passed  the  Hotel  du  Commerce.  Kirkwood 
stared  up  at  its  windows,  wondering  .  .  . 

A  little  farther  on,  a  disengaged  fiacre,  its  driver 
alert  for  possible  fares,  turned  a  corner  into  the  es- 
planade. At  sight  of  it  Kirkwood,  inspired,  hopped 
nimbly  off  the  tram-car  and  signaled  the  cabby.  The 
latter  pulled  up  and  Kirkwood  started  to  charge  him 
with  instructions ;  something  which  he  did  haltingly, 
hampered  by  a  slight  haziness  of  purpose.  While 
thus  engaged,  and  at  rest  in  the  stark  glare  of  the 
street-lamps,  with  no  chance  of  concealing  himself,  he 
was  aware  of  a  rising  tumult  in  the  direction  of  the 
landing,  and  glancing  round,  discovered  a  number  of 
people  running  toward  him.  With  no  time  to  wonder 
whether  or  no  he  was  really  the  object  of  the  hue-and- 
cry,  he  tossed  the  driver  three  silver  francs. 

"  Gare  Centrale !  "  he  cried.  "  And  drive  like  the 
devil ! " 

Diving  into  the  fiacre  he  shut  the  door  and  stuck  his 
head  out  of  the  window,  taking  observations.  A 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS          301 

ragged  fringe  of  silly  rabble  was  bearing  down  upon 
them,  with  one  or  two  gendarmes  in  the  forefront,  and 
a  giant,  who  might  or  might  not  be  Stryker,  a  close 
second.  Furthermore,  another  cab  seemed  to  have 
been  requisitioned  for  the  chase.  His  heart  misgave 
him  momentarily ;  but  his  driver  had  taken  him  at  his 
word  and  generosity,  and  in  a  breath  the  fiacre  had 
turned  the  corner  on  two  wheels,  and  the  glittering 
reaches  of  the  embankment,  drive  and  promenade,  were 
blotted  out,  as  if  smudged  with  lamp-black,  by  the 
obscurity  of  a  narrow  and  tortuous  side  street. 

He  drew  in  his  head  the  better  to  preserve  his  brains 
against  further  emergencies. 

After  a  block  or  two  Kirkwood  picked  up  the  glad- 
stone  bag,  gently  opened  the  door,  and  put  a  foot 
on  the  step,  pausing  to  look  back.  The  other  cab 
was  pelting  after  him  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
hound  on  a  fresh  trail.  He  reflected  that  this  mad 
progress  through  the  thoroughfares  of  a  civilized 
city  would  not  long  endure  without  police  interven- 
tion. So  he  waited,  watching  his  opportunity.  The 
fiacre  hurtled  onward,  the  driver  leaning  forward 
from  his  box  to  urge  the  horse  with  lash  of  whip  and 
tongue,  entirely  unconscious  of  his  fare's  intentions. 

Between  two  streets  the  mouth  of  a  narrow  and 
darksome  byway  flashed  into  view.  Kirkwood  threw 
wide  the  door,  and  leaped,  trusting  to  the  night  to 
hide  his  stratagem,  to  luck  to  save  his  limbs.  Neither 


302  THE  BLACK  BAG 

failed  him ;  in  a  twinkling  he  was  on  all  fours  in  the 
mouth  of  the  alley,  and  as  he  picked  himself  up,  the 
second  fiacre  passed,  Calendar  himself  poking  a  round 
bald  poll  out  of  the  window  to  incite  his  driver's  cu- 
pidity with  promises  of  redoubled  fare. 

Kirkwood  mopped  his  dripping  forehead  and  whis- 
tled low  with  dismay;  it  seemed  that  from  that  in- 
stant on  it  was  to  be  a  vendetta  with  a  vengeance. 
Calendar,  as  he  had  foreseen,  was  stopping  at  nothing. 

At  a  dog  trot  he  sped  down  the  alley  to  the  next 
street,  on  which  he  turned  back  —  more  sedately  — 
toward  the  river,  debouching  on  the  esplanade  just 
one  block  from  the  Hotel  du  Commerce.  As  he  swung 
past  the  serried  tables  of  a  cafe,  whatever  fears  he  had 
harbored  were  banished  by  the  discovery  that  the  ex- 
citement occasioned  by  the  chase  had  already  sub- 
sided. Beneath  the  garish  awnings  the  crowd  was 
laughing  and  chattering,  eating  and  sipping  its 
bock  with  complete  unconcern,  heedless  altogether  of 
the  haggard  and  shabby  young  man  carrying  a  black 
hand-bag,  with  the  black  Shade  of  Care  for  company 
and  a  blacker  threat  of  disaster  dogging  his  foot- 
steps. Without  attracting  any  attention  whatever, 
indeed,  he  mingled  with  the  strolling  crowds,  making 
his  way  toward  the  Hotel  du  Commerce.  Yet  he  was 
not  at  all  at  ease;  his  uneasy  conscience  invested  the 
gladstone  bag  with  a  magnetic  attraction  for  the 
public  eye.  To  carry  it  unconcealed  in  his  hand 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS          303 

furnished  him  with  a  sensation  as  disturbing  as  though 
its  worn  black  sides  had  been  stenciled  STOLEN !  in 
letters  of  flame.  He  felt  it  rendered  him  a  cynosure 
of  public  interest,  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the  wide 
cold  world,  that  the  gaze  which  lit  upon  the  bag  trav- 
eled to  his  face  only  to  espy  thereon  the  brand  of 
guilt. 

For  ease  of  mind,  presently,  he  turned  into  a  con- 
venient shop  and  spent  ten  invaluable  francs  for  a 
hand  satchel  big  enough  to  hold  the  gladstone  bag. 

With  more  courage,  now  that  he  had  the  hateful 
thing  under  cover,  he  found  and  entered  the  Hotel  du 
Commerce. 

In  the  little  closet  which  served  for  an  office,  over  a 
desk  visibly  groaning  with  the  weight  of  an  enormous 
and  grimy  registry  book,  a  sleepy,  fat,  bland  and 
good-natured  woman  of  the  Belgian  bourgeoisie  pre- 
sided, a  benign  and  drowsy  divinity  of  even-tempered 
courtesy.  To  his  misleading  inquiry  for  Monsieur 
Calendar  she  returned  a  cheerful  permission  to  seek 
that  gentleman  for  himself. 

"  Three  flights,  M'sieu  ',  in  the  front ;  suite  sev- 
enteen it  is.  M'sieu'  does  not  mind  walking  up?" 
she  inquired. 

M'sieu'  did  not  in  the  least,  though  by  no  strain  of 
the  imagination  could  it  be  truthfully  said  that  he 
walked  up  those  steep  and  redolent  stairways  of  the 
Hotel  du  Commerce  d'Anvers.  More  literally,  he 


304  THE  BLACK  BAG 

flew  with  winged  feet,  spurning  each  third  padded 
step  with  a  force  that  raised  a  tiny  cloud  of  fine  white 
dust  from  the  carpeting. 

Breathless,  at  last  he  paused  at  the  top  of  the  third 
flight.  His  heart  was  hammering,  his  pulses  drumming 
like  wild  things ;  there  was  a  queer  constriction  in  his 
throat,  a  fire  of  hope  in  his  heart  alternating  with  the 
ice  of  doubt.  Suppose  she  were  not  there!  What 
if  he  were  mistaken,  what  if  he  had  misunderstood, 
•what  if  Mulready  and  Calendar  had  referred  to  an- 
other lodging-house? 

Pausing,  he  gripped  the  balustrade  fiercely,  forcing 
his  self-control,  forcing  himself  to  reflect  that  the  girl 
(presuming,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  he  were  pres- 
ently to  find  her)  could  not  be  expected  to  understand 
how  ardently  he  had  discounted  this  moment  of  meet- 
ing, or  how  strangely  it  affected  him..  Indeed,  he 
himself  was  more  than  a  little  disturbed  by  the  latter 
phenomenon,  though  he  was  no  longer  blind  to  its 
cause.  But  he  was  not  to  let  her  see  the  evidences  of 
his  agitation,  lest  she  be  frightened. 

Slowly  schooling  himself  to  assume  a  masque  of 
illuding  self-possession  and  composure,  he  passed 
down  the  corridor  to  the  door  whose  panels  wore  the 
painted  legend,  17 ;  and  there  knocked. 

Believing  that  he  overheard  from  within  a  sudden 
startled  exclamation,  he  smiled  patiently,  tolerant  of 
her  surprise. 


STRATAGEMS  AND  SPOILS          305 

Burning  with  impatience  as  with  a  fever,  he  en- 
dured a  long  minute's  wait. 

Misgivings  were  prompting  him  to  knock  again  and 
summon  her  by  name,  when  he  heard  footfalls  on  the 
other  side  of  the  door,  followed  by  a  click  of  the  lock. 
The  door  was  opened  grudgingly,  a  bare  six  inches. 

Of  the  alarmed  expression  in  the  eyes  that  stared 
into  his,  he  took  no  account.  His  face  lengthened  a 
little  as  he  stood  there,  dumb,  panting,  staring;  and 
his  heart  sank,  down,  deep  down  into  a  gulf  of  dis- 
appointment, weighted  sorely  with  chagrin. 

Then,  of  the  two  the  first  to  recover  countenance,  he 
doffed  his  cap  and  bowed. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Hallam,"  he  said  with  a 
rueful  smile. 


XV 

REFUGEES 

Now,  if  Kirkwood's  emotion  was  poignant,  Mrs. 
Hallam's  astonishment  paralleled,  and  her  relief  tran- 
scended it.  In  order  to  understand  this  it  must  be  re- 
membered that  while  Mr.  Kirkwood  was  aware  of  the 
lady's  presence  in  Antwerp,  on  her  part  she  had  known 
nothing  of  him  since  he  had  so  ungallantly  fled  her 
company  in  Sheerness.  She  seemed  to  anticipate  that 
either  Calendar  or  one  of  his  fellows  would  be  dis- 
covered at  the  door, —  to  have  surmised  it  without! 
any  excessive  degree  of  pleasure. 

Only  briefly  she  hesitated,  while  her  surprise  swayed! 
her ;  then  with  a  hardening  of  the  eyes  and  a  curt  little 
nod,  "  I'm  sorry,"  she  said  with  decision,  "  but  I  am 
busy  and  can't  see  you  now,  Mr.  Kirkwood  " ;  and  at- 
tempted to  shut  the  door  in  his  face. 

Deftly  Kirkwood  forestalled  her  intention  by  in-« 
serting  both  a  foot  and  a  corner  of  the  newly  pur- 
chased hand-bag  between  the  door  and  the  jamb.  He 
had  dared  too  greatly  to  be  thus  dismissed.  "  Pardon 
me,"  he  countered,  unabashed,  "  but  I  wish  to  speak 
with  Miss  Calendar." 

306 


REFUGEES  307 

"  Dorothy,"  returned  the  lady  with  spirit,  "  is 
engaged  .  .  ." 

She  compressed  her  lips,  knitted  her  brows,  and 
with  disconcerting  suddenness  thrust  one  knee  against 
the  obstructing  hand-bag;  Kirkwood,  happily,  an- 
ticipated the  movement  just  in  time  to  reinforce  the 
bag  with  his  own  knee ;  it  remained  in  place,  the  door 
standing  open. 

The  woman  flushed  angrily;  their  glances  crossed, 
her  eyes  flashing  with  indignation ;  but  Kirkwood's 
held  them  with  a  level  and  unyielding  stare. 

"  I  intend,"  he  told  her  quietly,  "  to  see  Miss  Cal- 
endar. It's  useless  your  trying  to  hinder  me.  We 
may  as  well  understand  each  other,  Madam,  and  I'll 
tell  you  now  that  if  you  wish  to  avoid  a  scene  — " 

"Dorothy!"  the. woman  called  over  her  shoulder; 
"  ring  for  the  porter." 

"  By  all  means,"  assented  Kirkwood  agreeably. 
"  I'll  send  him  for  a  gendarme." 

"  You  insolent  puppy !  " 

"  Madam,  your  wit  disarms  me  — " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Hallam  ?  "  interrupted  a 
voice  from  the  other  side  of  the  door.  "  Who  is  it?  " 

"  Miss  Calendar ! "  cried  Kirkwood  hastily,  raising 
his  voice. 

"  Mr.  Kirkwood ! "  the  reply  came  on  the  instant. 
She  knew  his  voice !  "  Please,  Mrs.  Hallam,  I  will 
see  Mr.  Kirkwood." 


308  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  You  have  no  time  to  waste  with  him,  Dorothy," 
said  the  woman  coldly.  "  I  must  insist  — " 

"  But  you  don't  seem  to  understand ;  it  is  Mr.  Kirk- 
wood  !  "  argued  the  girl, —  as  if  he  were  ample  excuse 
for  any  imprudence! 

Kirkwood's  scant  store  of  patience  was  by  this  time 
rapidly  becoming  exhausted.  "  I  should  advise  you 
not  to  interfere  any  further,  Mrs.  Hallam,"  he  told 
her  in  a  tone  low,  but  charged  with  meaning. 

How  much  did  he  know?  She  eyed  him  an  instant 
longer,  in  sullen  suspicion,  then  swung  open  the  door, 
yielding  with  what  grace  she  could.  "  Won't  you 
come  in,  Mr.  Kirkwood  ?  "  she  inquired  with  acidulated 
courtesy. 

"  If  you  press  me,"  he  returned  winningly,  "  how 
can  I  refuse  ?  You  are  too  good !  " 

His  impertinence  disconcerted  even  himself;  he 
wondered  that  she  did  not  slap  him  as  he  passed  her, 
entering  the  room;  and  felt  that  he  deserved  it,  de- 
spite her  attitude.  But  such  thoughts  could  not  long 
trouble  one  whose  eyes  were  enchanted  by  the  sight  of 
Dorothy,  confronting  him  in  the  middle  of  the  dingy 
room,  her  hands,  bristling  dangerously  with  hat  pins, 
busy  with  the  adjustment  of  a  small  gray  toque  atop 
the  wonder  that  was  her  hair.  So  vivacious  and 
charming  she  seemed,  so  spirited  and  bright  her  wel- 
coming smile,  so  foreign  was  she  altogether  to  the 
picture  of  her,  worn  and  distraught,  that  he  had 


REFUGEES  309 

mentally  conjured  up,  that  he  stopped  in  an  ex- 
treme of  disconcertion;  and  dropped  the  hand-bag, 
smiling  sheepishly  enough  under  her  ready  laugh  — 
mirth  irresistibly  incited  by  the  plainly-read  play  of 
expression  on  his  mobile  countenance. 

"  You  must  forgive  the  unconventionality,  Mr. 
Kirkwood,"  she  apologized,  needlessly  enough,  but  to 
cover  his  embarrassment.  "  I  am  on  the  point  of  go- 
ing out  with  Mrs.  Hallam  —  and  of  course  you  are 
the  last  person  on  earth  I  expected  to  meet  here !  " 

"  It's  good  to  see  you,  Miss  Calendar,"  he  said  sim- 
ply, remarking  with  much  satisfaction  that  her  trim 
walking  costume  bore  witness  to  her  statement  that 
she  was  prepared  for  the  street. 

The  girl  glanced  into  a  mirror,  patted  the  small, 
bewitching  hat  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  an  inch  to 
one  side,  and  turned  to  him  again,  her  hands  free. 
One  of  them,  small  but  cordial,  rested  in  his  grasp  for 
an  instant  all  too  brief,  the  while  he  gazed  earnestly 
into  her  face,  noting  with  concern  what  the  first  glance 
had  not  shown  him, —  the  almost  imperceptible  shad- 
ows beneath  her  eyes  and  cheek-bones,  pathetic 
records  of  the  hours  the  girl  had  spent,  since  last  he 
had  seen  her,  in  company  with  his  own  grim  familiar, 
Care. 

Not  a  little  of  care  and  distress  of  mind  had  sea- 
soned her  portion  in  those  two  weary  days.  He  saw 
and  knew  it;  and  his  throat  tightened  inexplicably, 


310  THE  BLACK  BAG 

again,  as  it  had  out  there  in  the  corridor.  Pos- 
sibly the  change  in  her  had  passed  unchallenged  by 
any  eyes  other  than  his,  but  even  in  the  little  time 
that  he  had  spent  in  her  society,  the  image  of  her  had 
become  fixed  so  indelibly  on  his  memory,  that  he  could 
not  now  be  deceived.  She  was  changed  —  a  little,  but 
changed;  she  had  suffered,  and  was  suffering  and, 
iforced  by  suffering,  her  nascent  womanhood  was  stir- 
ring in  the  bud.  The  child  that  he  had  met  in  Lon- 
!don,  in  Antwerp  he  found  grown  to  woman's  stature 
and  slowly  coming  to  comprehension  of  the  nature  of 
the  change  in  herself, —  the  wonder  of  it  glowing 
softly  in  her  eyes. 

The  clear  understanding  of  mankind  that  is  an 
appanage  of  woman's  estate,  was  now  added  to  the  in- 
tuitions of  a  girl's  untroubled  heart.  She  could 
not  be  blind  to  the  mute  adoration  of  his  gaze;  nor 
could  she  resent  it.  Beneath  it  she  colored  and  low- 
ered her  lashes. 

"  I  was  about  to  go  out,"  she  repeated  in  confusion. 
*  I  —  it's  pleasant  to  see  you,  too." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  stammered  ineptly ;  "I  —  I  — ' 

"  If  Mr.  Kirkwood  will  excuse  us,  Dorothy,"  Mrs. 
Hallam's  sharp  tones  struck  in  discordantly,  "  we 
shall  be  glad  to  see  him  when  we  return  to  London." 

"  I  ami  infinitely  complimented,  Mrs.  Hallam," 
Kirkwood  assured  her;  and  of  the  girl  quickly: 
"  You're  going  back  home  ?  "  he  asked. 


REFUGEES  311 

She  nodded,  with  a  faint,  puzzled  smile  that  in- 
cluded the  woman.  "  After  a  little  —  not  immedi- 
ately. Mrs.  Hallam  is  so  kind  — " 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  interrupted ;  "  but  tell  me  one 
thing,  please :  have  you  any  one  in  England  to  whom 
you  can  go  without  invitation  and  be  welcomed  and 
cared  for  —  any  friends  or  relations  ?  " 

"  Dorothy  will  be  with  me,"  Mrs.  Hallam  answered 
for  her,  with  cold  defiance. 

Deliberately  insolent,  Kirkwood  turned  his  back  to 
the  woman.  "  Miss  Calendar,  will  you  answer  my 
question  for  yourself?  "  he  asked  the  girl  pointedly. 

"  Why  —  yes ;  several  friends ;  none  in  London, 
but—" 

"  Dorothy  — " 

"  One  moment,  Mrs.  Hallam,"  Kirkwood  flung1 
crisply  over  his  shoulder.  "  I'm  going  to  ask  you 
something  rather  odd,  Miss  Calendar,"  he  continued, 
seeking  the  girl's  eyes.  "  I  hope  — " 

"  Dorothy,  I  — " 

"  If  you  please,  Mrs.  Hallam,"  suggested  the  girl, 
with  just  the  right  shade  of  independence.  "  I  wish 
to  listen  to  Mr.  Kirkwood.  He  has  been  very  kind  to 
me  and  has  every  right.  .  .  ."  She  turned  to 
him  again,  leaving  the  woman  breathless  and  speech- 
less with  anger. 

"  You  told  me  once,"  Kirkwood  continued  quickly, 
and,  he  felt,  brazenly,  "  that  you  considered  me  kind, 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

thoughtful  and  considerate.  You  know  me  no  bet- 
ter to-day  than  you  did  then,  but  I  want  to  beg  you 
to  trust  me  a  little.  Can  you  trust  yourself  to  my 
protection  until  we  reach  your  friends  in  England?  " 

"  Why,  I  — "  the  girl  faltered,  taken  by  surprise. 

"  Mr.  Kirkwood !  "  cried  Mrs.  Hallam  angrily,  find- 
ing her  voice. 

Kirkwood  turned  to  meet  her  onslaught  with  a  mien 
grave,  determined,  unflinching.  "  Please  do  not  in- 
terfere, Madam,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  You  are  impertinent,  sir !  Dorothy,  I  forbid  you 
to  listen  to  this  person ! " 

The  girl  flushed,  lifting  her  chin  a  trifle.  "  For- 
bid? "  she  repeated  wonderingly. 

Kirkwood  was  quick  to  take  advantage  of  her  re- 
sentment. "  Mrs.  Hallam  is  not  fitted  to  advise  you," 
he  insisted,  "  nor  can  she  control  your  actions.  It 
must  already  have  occurred  to  you  that  you're  rather 
out  of  place  in  the  present  circumstances.  The  men 
who  have  brought  you  hither,  I  believe  you  already 
see  through,  to  some  extent.  Forgive  my  speaking 
plainly.  .  .  .  But  that  is  why  you  have  accepted 
Mrs.  Hallam's  offer  of  protection.  Will  you  take  my 
word  for  it,  when  I  tell  you  she  has  not  your  right  in- 
terests at  heart,  but  the  reverse?  I  happen  to  know, 
Miss  Calendar,  and  I — " 

"  How  dare  you,  sir?  " 

Flaming  with  rage,  Mrs.  Hallam  put  herself  bodily 


REFUGEES  313 

between  them,  confronting  Kirkwood  in  white-lipped 
desperation,  her  small,  gloved  hands  clenched  and 
quivering  at  her  sides,  her  green  eyes  dangerous. 

But  Kirkwood  could  silence  her ;  and  he  did.  "  Do 
you  wish  me  to  speak  frankly,  Madam?  Do  you 
wish  me  to  tell  what  I  know  —  and  all  I  know  — ," 
with  rising  emphasis, — "  of  your  social  status  and 
your  relations  with  Calendar  and  Mulready  ?  I  prom- 
ise you  that  if  you  wish  it,  or  force  me  to  it  .  .  ." 

But  he  had  need  to  say  nothing  further;  the 
woman's  eyes  wavered  before  his  and  a  little  sob  of 
terror  forced  itself  between  her  shut  teeth.  Kirk- 
wood smiled  grimly,  with  a  face  of  brass,  impenetra- 
ble, inflexible.  And  suddenly  she  turned  from  him 
with  indifferent  bravado. 

"  As  Mr.  Kirkwood  says,  Dorothy,"  she  said  in  her 
high,  metallic  voice,  "  I  have  no  authority  over  you. 
But  if  you're  silly  enough  to  consider  for  a  moment 
this  fellow's  insulting  suggestion,  if  you're  fool 
enough  to  go  with  him,  unchaperoned  through  Eu- 
rope and  imperil  your  — " 

"  Mrs.  Hallam ! "  Kirkwood  cut  her  short  with  a 
menacing  tone. 

"  Why,  then,  I  wash  my  hands  of  you,"  concluded 
the  woman  defiantly.  "  Make  your  choice,  my  child," 
she  added  with  a  meaning  laugh  and  moved  away, 
humming  a  snatch  from  a  French  chanson  which 
brought  the  hot  blood  to  Kirkwood's  face. 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

But  the  girl  did  not  understand ;  and  he  was  glad  of 
that.  "  You  may  judge  between  us,"  he  appealed  to 
her  directly,  once  more.  "  I  can  only  offer  you  my 
word  of  honor  as  an  American  gentleman  that  you 
shall  be  landed  in  England,  safe  and  sound,  by  the 
first  available  steamer — " 

"  There's  no  need  to  say  more,  Mr.  Kirkwood," 
Dorothy  informed  him  quietly.  "  I  have  already  de- 
cided. I  think  I  begin  to  understand  some  things 
clearly,  now.  ...  If  you're  ready,  we  will  go." 

From  the  window,  where  she  stood,  holding  the  cur- 
tains back  and  staring  out,  Mrs.  Hallam  turned  with 
a  curling  lip. 

"  *  The  honor  of  an  American,  gentleman,' "  she 
quoted  with  a  stinging  sneer ;  "  I'm  sure  I  wish  you 
comfort  of  it,  child !  " 

"  We  must  make  haste,  Miss  Calendar,"  said  Kirk- 
wood,  ignoring  the  implication.  "  Have  you  a  travel- 
ing-bag? " 

She  silently  indicated  a  small  valise,  closed  and 
strapped,  on  a  table  by  the  bed,  and  immediately 
gassed  out  into  the  hall.  Kirkwood  took  the  case  con- 
taining the  gladstone  bag  in  one  hand,  the  girl's 
valise  in  the  other,  and  followed. 

As  he  turned  the  head  of  the  stairs  he  looked  back. 
Mrs.  Hallam  was  still  at  the  window,  her  back 
turned.  From  her  very  passiveness  he  received  an 
i impression  of  something  ominous  and  forbidding;  if 


From  the  window,  Mrs.  Hallam  turned  with  a  curling  lip.     Page  314 


REFUGEES  315 

she  had  lost  a  trick  or  two  of  the  game  she  played, 
she  still  held  cards,  was  not  at  the  end  of  her  re- 
sources. She  stuck  in  his  imagination  for  many  an 
hour  as  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with. 

For  the  present  he  understood  that  she  was  waiting 
to  apprise  Calendar  and  Mulready  of  their  flight. 
With  the  more  haste,  then,  he  followed  Dorothy  down 
the  three  flights,  through  the  tiny  office,  where  Madam 
sat  sound  asleep  at  her  over-burdened  desk,  and  out. 

Opposite  the  door  they  were  fortunate  enough  to 
find  a  fiacre  drawn  up  in  waiting  at  the  curb.  Kirk- 
wood  opened  the  door  for  the  girl  to  enter. 

"  Gare  du  Sud,"  he  directed  the  driver.  "  Drive 
your  fastest  —  double  fare  for  quick  time !  " 

The  driver  awoke  with  a  start  from  profound 
reverie,  looked  Kirkwood  over,  and  bowed  with  ges- 
ticulative  palms. 

"  M'sieu',  I  am  desolated,  but  engaged ! "  he  pro- 
tested. 

"  Precisely."  Kirkwood  deposited  the  two  bags  on 
the  forward  seat  of  the  conveyance,  and  stood  back  to 
convince  the  man.  "  Precisely,"  said  he,  undismayed. 
"  The  lady  who  engaged  you  is  remaining  for  a  time ; 
I  will  settle  her  bill." 

"  Very  well,  M'sieu' !  "  The  driver  disclaimed  re- 
sponsibility and  accepted  the  favor  of  the  gods  with 
a  speaking  shrug.  "  M'sieu'  said  the  Gare  du  Sud? 
En  voiture!  " 


316  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Kirkwood  jumped  in  and  shut  the  door;  the  vehicle 
drew  slowly  away  from  the  curb,  then  with  gratify- 
ing speed  hammered  up-stream  on  the  embankment. 
Bending  forward,  elbows  on  knees,  Kirkwood  watched 
the  sidewalks  narrowly,  partly  to  cover  the  girl's  con- 
straint, due  to  Mrs.  Hallam's  attitude,  partly  on  the 
lookout  for  Calendar  and  his  confederates.  In  a  few 
moments  they  passed  a  public  clock. 

"  We've  missed  the  Flushing  boat,"  he  announced. 
"  I'm  making  a  try  for  the  Hoek  van  Holland  line. 
We  may  possibly  make  it.  I  know  that  it  leaves  by 
the  Sud  Quai,  and  that's  all  I  do  know,"  he  concluded 
with  an  apologetic  laugh. 

"  And  if  we  miss  that?  "  asked  the  girl,  breaking 
silence  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  left  the  hotel. 

"  We'll  take  the  first  train  out  of  Antwerp." 

"Where  to?" 

"  Wherever  the  first  train  goes,  Miss  Calendar. 
The  main  point  is  to  get  away  to-night. 
That  we  must  do,  no  matter  where  we  land,  or  how  we 
get  there.  To-morrow  we  can  plan  with  more  cer- 
tainty." 

"  Yes  .  .  ."  Her  assent  was  more  a  sigh  than 
a  word. 

The  cab,  dashing  down  the  Rue  Leopold  de  Wael, 
swung  into  the  Place  du  Sud,  before  the  station. 
Kirkwood,  acutely  watchful,  suddenly  thrust  head  and 
shoulders  out  of  his  window  (fortunately  it  was  the 


REFUGEES  317 

one  away  from  the  depot),  and  called  up  to  the 
driver. 

"  Don't  stop !  Gare  Centrale  now  —  and  treble 
fare!" 

"  Oui,  M'sieu'!     Allow!  " 

The  whip  cracked  and  the  horse  swerved  sharply 
round  the  corner  into  the  Avenue  du  Sud.  The 
young  man,  with  a  hushed  exclamation,  turned  in  his 
seat,  lifting  the  flap  over  the  little  peephole  in  the 
back  of  the  carriage. 

He  had  not  been  mistaken.  Calendar  was  stand- 
ing in  front  of  the  station ;  and  it  was  plain  to  be 
seen,  from  his  pose,  that  the  madly  careering  fiacre 
interested  him  more  than  slightly.  Irresolute,  per- 
turbed, the  man  took  a  step  or  two  after  it,  changed 
his  mind,  and  returned  to  his  post  of  observation. 

Kirkwood  dropped  the  flap  and  turned  back  to 
find  the  girl's  wide  eyes  searching  his  face.  He  said 
nothing. 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  she  asked  after  a  patient  mo- 
ment. 

"  Your  father,  Miss  Calendar,"  he  returned  un- 
comfortably. 

There  fell  a  short  pause ;  then :  "  Why  —  will  you 
tell  me  —  is  it  necessary  to  run  away  from  my 
father,  Mr.  Kirkwood?  "  she  demanded,  with  a  moving 
little  break  in  her  voice. 

Kirkwood  hesitated.     It  were  unfeeling  to  tell  her 


618  THE  BLACK  BAG 

why ;  yet  it  was  essential  that  she  should  know,  how- 
ever painful  the  knowledge  might  prove  to  her. 

And  she  was  insistent ;  he  might  not  dodge  the  issue. 
"  Why  ?  "  she  repeated  as  he  paused. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  press  me  for  an  answer  just 
now,  Miss  Calendar." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  had  better  know  ?  " 

Instinctively  he  inclined  his  head  in  assent. 

"Then  why—?" 

Kirkwood  bent  forward  and  patted  the  flank  of  the 
satchel  that  held  the  gladstone  bag. 

"  What  does  that  mean,  Mr.  Kirkwood?  " 

"  That  I  have  the  jewels,"  he  told  her  tersely,  look- 
ing straight  ahead. 

At  his  shoulder  he  heard  a  low  gasp  of  amazement, 
and  incredulity  commingled. 

"  But  — !  How  did  you  get  them  ?  My  father 
(deposited  them  in  bank  this  morning?  " 

"  He  must  have  taken  them  out  again.  ...  I 
got  them  on  board  the  Alethea,  where  your  father  was 
conferring  with  Mulready  and  Captain  Stryker." 

"  The  Alethea!  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You  took  them  from  those  men  ?  —  you !     .     . 
But  didn't  my  father — ?  " 

"  I  had  to  persuade  him,"  said  Kirkwood  simply. 

"  But  there  were  three  of  them  against  you !  " 

"  Mulready  wasn't  —  ah  —  feeling  very  well,  and 


REFUGEES  319 

Striker's  a  coward.  They  gave  me  no  trouble.  I 
locked  them  in  Stryker's  room,  lifted  the  bag  of  jew- 
els, and  came  away.  ...  I  ought  to  tell  you 
that  they  were  discussing  the  advisability  of  sailing 
away  without  you  —  leaving  you  here,  friendless  and 
without  means.  That's  why  I  considered  it  my  duty 
to  take  a  hand.  ...  I  don't  like  to  tell  you  this 
so  brutally,  but  you  ought  to  know,  and  I  can't  see 
how  to  tone  it  down,"  he  concluded  awkwardly. 

"  I  understand     .     .      ." 

But  for  some  moments  she  did  not  speak.  He 
avoided  looking  at  her. 

The  fiacre,  rolling  at  top  speed  but  smoothly  on 
the  broad  avenues  that  encircle  the  ancient  city, 
turned  into  the  Avenue  de  Keyser,  bringing  into  sight 
the  Gare  Centrale. 

"  You  don't  —  k-know  — "  began  the  girl  without 
warning,  in  a  voice  gusty  with  sobs. 

"  Steady  on ! "  said  Kirkwood  gently.  "  I  do 
know,  but  don't  let's  talk  about  it  now.  We'll  be  at 
the  station  in  a  minute,  and  I'll  get  out  and  see 
what's  to  be  done  about  a  train,  if  neither  Mulready 
or  Stryker  are  about.  You  stay  in  the  carriage. 
No ! "  He  changed  his  mind  suddenly. 
"  I'll  not  risk  losing  you  again.  It's  a  risk  we'll 
have  to  run  in  company." 

"  Please !  "  she  agreed  brokenly. 

The  fiacre  slowed  up  and  stopped. 


320  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"Are  you  all  right,  Miss  Calendar?"  Kirkwood 
asked. 

The  girl  sat  up,  lifting  her  head  proudly.  "  I  am 
quite  ready,"  she  said,  steadying  her  voice. 

Kirkwood  reconnoitered  through  the  window,  while 
the  driver  was  descending. 

"  Gare  Centrale,  M'sieu',"  he  said,  opening  the 
door. 

"  No  one  in  sight,"  Kirkwood  told  the  girl. 
"  Come,  please." 

He  got  out  and  gave  her  his  hand,  then  paid  the 
driver,  picked  up  the  two  bags,  and  hurried  with 
Dorothy  into  the  station,  to  find  in  waiting  a  string 
of  cars  into  which  people  were  moving  at  leisurely 
rate.  His  inquiries  at  the  ticket-window  developed 
the  fact  that  it  was  the  22 :26  for  Brussels,  the  last 
train  leaving  the  Gare  Centrale  that  night,  and  due  to 
start  in  ten  minutes. 

The  information  settled  their  plans  for  once  and 
all;  Kirkwood  promptly  secured  through  tickets,  also 
purchasing  "  Reserve  "  supplementary  tickets  which 
entitled  them  to  the  use  of  those  modern  corridor 
coaches  which  take  the  place  of  first-class  compart- 
ments on  the  Belgian  state  railways. 

"  It's  a  pleasure,"  said  Kirkwood  lightly,  as  he 
followed  the  girl  into  one  of  these,  "  to  find  one's  self 
in  a  common-sense  sort  of  a  train  again.  'Feels  like 
home."  He  put  their  luggage  in  one  of  the  racks 


REFUGEES  321 

and  sat  down  beside  her,  chattering  with  simulated 
cheerfulness  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  lighten  her  evi- 
dent depression  of  spirit.  "  I  always  feel  like  a 
traveling  anachronism  in  one  of  your  English  trains," 
he  said.  "  You  can't  appreciate  — " 

The  girl  smiled  bravely.  ..."  And  after 
Brussels  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  First  train  for  the  coast,"  he  said  promptly. 
"  Dover,  Ostend,  Boulogne, —  whichever  proves  handi- 
est, no  matter  which,  so  long  as  it  gets  us  on  English 
soil  without  undue  delay." 

She  said  "  Yes  "  abstractedly,  resting  an  elbow  on 
the  window-sill  and  her  chin  in  her  palm,  to  stare  with 
serious,  sweet  brown  eyes  out  into  the  arc-smitten 
night  that  hung  beneath  the  echoing  roof. 

Kirkwood  fidgeted  in  despite  of  the  constraint  he 
placed  himself  under,  to  be  still  and  not  disturb  her 
needlessly.  Impatience  and  apprehension  of  misfor- 
tune obsessed  his  mental  processes  in  equal  degree. 
The  ten  minutes  seemed  interminable  that  elapsed 
ere  the  grinding  couplings  advertised  the  imminence 
of  their  start. 

The  guards  began  to  bawl,  the  doors  to  slam,  be- 
lated travelers  to  dash  madly  for  the  coaches.  The 
train  gave  a  preliminary  lurch  ere  settling  down  to 
its  league-long  inland  dash. 

Kirkwood,  in  a  fever  of  hope  and  an  ague  of 
fear,  saw  a  man  sprint  furiously  across  the  platform 


322  THE  BLACK  BAG 

and  throw  himself  on  the  forward  steps  of  their  coach, 
on  the  very  instant  of  the  start. 

Presently  he  entered  by  the  forward  door  and 
walked  slowly  through,  narrowly  inspecting  the  va- 
rious passengers.  As  he  approached  the  seats  occu- 
pied by  Kirkwood  and  Dorothy  Calendar,  his  eyes 
encountered  the  young  man's,  and  he  leered  evilly. 
Kirkwood  met  the  look  with  one  that  was  like  a  kick, 
and  the  fellow  passed  with  some  haste  into  the  car 
behind. 

"  Who  was  that?  "  demanded  the  girl,  without  mov- 
ing her  head. 

"  How  did  you  know? "  he  asked,  astonished. 
"You  didn't  look— " 

"  I  saw  your  knuckles  whiten  beneath  the  skin. 
.  .  .  Who  was  it?" 

"  Hobbs,"  he  acknowledged  bitterly ;  "  the  mate  of 
the  Alethea." 

"  I  know.     .     .     .     And  you  think  — ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  must  have  been  ashore  when  I  was  on 
board  the  brigantine ;  he  certainly  wasn't  in  the  cabin. 
Evidently  they  hunted  him  up,  or  ran  across  him,  and 
pressed  him  into  service.  .  .  .  You  see,  they're 
watching  every  outlet.  .  .  .  But  we'll  win 
through,  never  fear !  " 


XVI 


The  train,  escaping  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  re- 
marked the  event  with  an  exultant  shriek,  then  set- 
tled down,  droning  steadily,  to  night-devouring  flight. 
In  the  corridor-car  the  few  passengers  disposed  them- 
selves to  drowse  away  the  coming  hour  —  the  short 
hour's  ride  that,  in  these  piping  days  of  frantic  trav- 
eling, separates  Antwerp  from  the  capital  city  of 
Belgium. 

A  guard,  slamming  gustily  in  through  the  front 
door,  reeled  unsteadily  down  the  aisle.  Kirkwood, 
rousing  from  a  profound  reverie,  detained  him  with  a 
gesture  and  began  to  interrogate  him  in  French. 
When  he  departed  presently  it  transpired  that  the  girl 
was  unaquainted  with  that  tongue. 

"  I  didn't  understand,  you  know,"  she  told  him  with 
a  slow,  shy  smile. 

"  I  was  merely  questioning  him  about  the  trains 
from  Brussels  to-night.  We  daren't  stop,  you  see; 
we  must  go  on, —  keep  Hobbs  on  the  jump  and  lose 
him,  if  possible.  There's  where  our  advantage  lies  — 

323 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

in  having  only  Hobbs  to  deal  with.  He's  not  par- 
ticularly intellectual;  and  we've  two  heads  to  his  one, 
besides.  If  we  can  prevent  him  from  guessing  our 
destination  and  wiring  back  to  Antwerp,  we  may  win 
away.  You  understand?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  she  said,  brightening.  "  And  what 
do  you  purpose  doing  now?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  yet.  The  guard's  gone  to  get  me 
some  information  about  the  night  trains  on  other 
lines.  In  the  meantime,  don't  fret  about  Hobbs;  I'll 
answer  for  Hobbs." 

"  I  shan't  be  worried,"  she  said  simply,  "  with  you 
here..  .  .  ." 

Whatever  answer  he  would  have  made  he  was 
obliged  to  postpone  because  of  the  return  of  the 
guard,  with  a  handful  of  time-tables ;  and  when,  re- 
warded with  a  modest  gratuity,  the  man  had  gone 
his  way,  and  Kirkwood  turned  again  to  the  girl,  she 
had  withdrawn  her  attention  for  the  time. 

Unconscious  of  his  bold  regard,  she  was  dreaming, 
her  thoughts  at  loose-ends,  her  eyes  studying  the  in- 
calculable depths  of  blue-black  night  that  swirled 
and  eddied  beyond  the  window- glass.  The  most 
shadowy  of  smiles  touched  her  lips,  the  faintest  shade 
of  deepened  color  rested  on  her  cheeks.  .  .  .  She 
was  thinking  of  —  him?  As  long  as  he  dared,  the 
young  man,  his  heart  in  his  own  eyes,  watched  her 
greedily,  taking  a  miser's  joy  of  her  youthful  beauty, 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       325 

striving  with  all  his  soul  to  analyze  the  enigma  of 
that  most  inscrutable  smile. 

It  baffied  him.  He  could  not  say  of  what  she 
thought ;  and  told  himself  bitterly  that  it  was  not 
for  him,  a  pauper,  to  presume  a  place  in  her  medita- 
tions. He  must  not  forget  his  circumstances,  nor  let 
her  tolerance  render  him  oblivious  to  his  place,  which 
must  be  a  servant's,  not  a  lover's. 

The  better  to  convince  himself  of  this,  he  plunged 
desperately  into  a  forlorn  attempt  to  make  head  or 
tail  of  Belgian  railway  schedule,  complicated  as 
these  of  necessity  are  by  the  alternation  from  normal 
time  notation  to  the  abnormal  system  sanctioned  by 
the  government,  and  vice-versa,  with  every  train  that 
crosses  a  boundary  line  of  the  state. 

So  preoccupied  did  he  become  in  this  pursuit  that 
he  was  subconsciously  impressed  that  the  girl  had 
spoken  twice,  ere  he  could  detach  his  interest  from 
the  exasperatingly  inconclusive  and  incoherent  cohorts 
of  ranked  figures. 

"  Can't  you  find  out  anything?  "  Dorothy  was  ask- 
ing. 

"  Precious  little,"  he  grumbled.  "  I'd  give  my 
head  for  a  Bradshaw!  Only  it  wouldn't  be  a  fair 
exchange.  .  .  .  There  seems  to  be  an  express  for 
Bruges  leaving  the  Gare  du  Nord,  Brussels,  at  fifty- 
five  minutes  after  twenty-three  o'clock ;  and  if  I'm  not 
mistaken,  that's  the  latest  train  out  of  Brussels  and 


326 

the  earliest  we  can  catch,  .  .  .  if  we  can  catch 
it.  I've  never  been  in  Brussels,  and  Heaven  only 
knows  how  long  it  would  take  us  to  cab  it  from  the 
Gare  du  Midi  to  the  Nord." 

In  this  statement,  however,  Mr.  Kirkwood  was  for- 
tunately mistaken ;  not  only  Heaven,  it  appeared, 
had  cognizance  of  the  distance  between  the  two  sta- 
tions. While  Kirkwood  was  still  debating  the  ques- 
tion, with  pessimistic  tendencies,  the  friendly  guard 
had  occasion  to  pass  through  the  coach;  and,  being 
tapped,  yielded  the  desired  information  with  entire 
tractability. 

It  would  be  a  cab-ride  of  perhaps  ten  minutes. 
Monsieur,  however,  would  serve  himself  well  if  he  of- 
fered the  driver  an  advance  tip  as  an  incentive  to 
speedy  driving.  Why?  Why  because  (here  the 
guard  consulted  his  watch ;  and  Kirkwood  very  keenly 
regretted  the  loss  of  his  own) — because  this  train, 
announced  to  arrive  in  Brussels  some  twenty  minutes 
prior  to  the  departure  of  that  other,  was  already  late. 
But  yes  —  a  matter  of  some  ten  minutes.  Could  that 
not  be  made  up?  Ah,  Monsieur,  but  who  should  say? 

The  guard  departed,  doubtless  with  private  views 
as  to  the  madness  of  all  English-speaking  travelers. 

"  And  there  we  are ! "  commented  Kirkwood  in 
factitious  resignation.  "  If  we're  obliged  to  stop 
overnight  in  Brussels,  our  friends  will  be  on  our  back 
before  we  can  get  out  in  the  morning,  if  they  have 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       327 

to  come  by  motor-car."  He  reflected  bitterly  on  the 
fact  that  with  but  a  little  more  money  at  his  dis- 
posal, he  too  could  hire  a  motor-car  and  cry  defiance 
to  their  persecutors.  "  However,"  he  amended,  with 
rising  spirits,  "  so  much  the  better  our  chance  of  los- 
ing Mr.  Hobbs.  We  must  be  ready  to  drop  off  the 
instant  the  train  stops." 

He  began  to  unfold  another  time-table,  threaten- 
ing again  to  lose  himself  completely ;  and  was  thrown 
into  the  utmost  confusion  by  the  touch  of  the  girl's 
hand,  in  appeal  placed  lightly  on  his  own.  And  had 
she  been  observant,  she  might  have  seen  a  second  time 
his  knuckles  whiten  beneath  the  skin  as  he  asserted 
his  self-control  —  though  this  time  not  over  his  tem- 
per. 

His  eyes,  dumbly  eloquent,  turned  to  meet  hers. 
She  was  smiling. 

"  Please !  "  she  iterated,  with  the  least  imperative 
pressure  on  his  hand,  pushing  the  folder  aside. 

"  I  beg  pardon  ?  "  he  muttered  blankly. 

"  Is  it  quite  necessary,  now,  to  study  those  sched- 
ules? Haven't  you  decided  to  try  for  the  Bruges 
express  ?  " 

"  Why  yes,  but  — " 

"  Then  please  don't  leave  me  to  my  thoughts  all 
the  time,  Mr.  Kirkwood."  There  was  a  tremor  of 
laughter  in  her  voice,  but  her  eyes  were  grave  and 
earnest.  "  I'm  very  weary  of  thinking  round  in  a 


328  THE  BLACK  BAG 

circle  —  and  that,"  she  concluded,  with  a  nervous  lit- 
tle laugh,  "  is  all  I've  had  to  do  for  days !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  very  stupid,"  he  humored  her. 
"  This  is  the  second  time,  you  know,  in  the  course  of 
a  very  brief  acquaintance,  that  you  have  found  it 
necessary  to  remind  me  to  talk  to  you." 

"  Oh-h !  "  She  brightened.  "  That  night,  at  the 
Pless  ?  But  that  was  ages  ago !  " 

"  It  seems  so,"  he  admitted. 

"  So  much  has  happened ! " 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  vaguely. 

She  watched  him,  a  little  piqued  by  his  absent- 
minded  mood,  for  a  moment;  then,  and  not  without 
a  trace  of  malice :  "  Must  I  tell  you  again  what  to 
talk  about?  "  she  asked. 

"  Forgive  me.  I  was  thinking  about,  if  not  talk- 
ing to,  you.  .  .  .  I've  been  wondering  just  why 
it  was  that  you  left  the  Alethea  at  Queensborough,  to 
go  on  by  steamer." 

And  immediately  he  was  sorry  that  his  tactless 
query  had  swung  the  conversation  to  bear  upon  her 
father,  the  thought  of  whom  could  not  but  prove 
painful  to  her.  But  it  was  too  late  to  mend  matters ; 
already  her  evanescent  flush  of  amusement  had  given 
place  to  remembrance. 

"  It  was  on  my  father's  account,"  she  told  him 
in  a  steady  voice,  but  with  averted  eyes ;  "  he  is  a 
very  poor  sailor,  and  the  promise  of  a  rough  passage 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       329 

terrified  him.  I  believe  there  was  a  difference  of  opin- 
ion about  it,  he  disputing  with  Mr.  Mulready  and 
Captain  Stryker.  That  was  just  after  we  had  left 
the  anchorage.  They  both  insisted  that  it  was  safer 
to  continue  by  the  Alethea,  but  he  wouldn't  listen  to 
them,  and  in  the  end  had  his  way.  Captain  Stryker 
ran  the  brigantine  into  the  mouth  of  the  Medway  and 
put  us  ashore  just  in  time  to  catch  the  steamer." 

"  Were  you  sorry  for  the  change?  " 

"I?"  She  shuddered  slightly.  "Hardly!  I 
think  I  hated  the  ship  from  the  moment  I  set  foot  on 
board  her.  It  was  a  dreadful  place ;  it  was  all  night- 
marish, that  night,  but  it  seemed  most  terrible  on  the 
Alethea  with  Captain  Stryker  and  that  abominable 
Mr.  Hobbs.  I  think  that  my  unhappiness  had  as 
much  to  do  with  my  father's  insistence  on  the  change, 
as  anything.  He  ...  he  was  very  thoughtful, 
most  of  the  time." 

Kirkwood  shut  his  teeth  on  what  he  knew  of  the 
blackguard. 

"  I  don't  know  why,"  she  continued,  wholly  with- 
out affectation,  "  but  I  was  wretched  from  the  mo- 
ment you  left  me  in  the  cab,  to  wait  while  you  went 
in  to  see  Mrs.  Hallam.  And  when  we  left  you,  at 
Bermondsey  Old  Stairs,  after  what  you  had  said  to 
me,  I  felt  —  I  hardly  know  what  to  say  —  abandoned, 
in  a  way." 

"  But  you  were  with  your  father,  in  his  care  — " 


330  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  I  know,  but  I  was  getting  confused.  Until  then 
the  excitement  had  kept  me  from  thinking.  But  you 
made  me  think.  I  began  to  wonder,  to  question 
,  .  .  But  what  could  I  do?  "  She  signified  her 
helplessness  with  a  quick  and  dainty  movement  of  her 
hands.  "  He  is  my  father ;  and  I'm  not  yet  of  age, 
you  know." 

"  I  thought  so,"  he  confessed,  troubled.  "  It's  very 
inconsiderate  of  you,  you  must  admit." 

"  I  don't  understand     .     .     ." 

"  Because  of  the  legal  complication.  I've  no  doubt 
your  father  can  *  have  the  law  on  me  '  " —  Kirkwood 
laughed  uneasily  — "  for  taking  you  from  his  protec- 
tion." 

"  Protection !  "  she  echoed  warmly.  "  If  you  call 
it  that!" 

"  Kidnapping,"  he  said  thoughtfully :  "  I  presume 
that'd  be  the  charge." 

"  Oh !  "  She  laughed  the  notion  to  scorn.  "  Be- 
sides, they  must  catch  us  first,  mustn't  they?  " 

"  Of  course ;  and  " —  with  a  simulation  of  confi- 
dence sadly  deceitful  — "  they  shan't,  Mr.  Hobbs  to 
the  contrary  notwithstanding." 

"  You  make  me  share  your  confidence,  against  my 
better  judgment." 

"  I  wish  your  better  judgment  would  counsel  you 
to  share  your  confidence  with  me,"  he  caught  her  up. 
"  If  you  would  only  tell  me  what  it's  all  about,  as 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       331 

far  as  you  know,  I'd  be  better  able  to  figure  out  what 
we  ought  to  do." 

Briefly  the  girl  sat  silent,  staring  before  her  with 
sweet  somber  eyes.  Then,  "  In  the  very  beginning," 
she  told  him  with  a  conscious  laugh, — "  this  sounds, 
very  story-bookish,  I  know  —  in  the  very  beginning} 
George  Burgoyne  Calendar,  an  American,  married  his 
cousin  a  dozen  times  removed,  and  an  Englishwoman, 
Alice  Burgoyne  Hallam." 

"  Hallam !  " 

"  Wait,  please."  She  sat  up,  bending  forward  and 
frowning  down  upon  her  interlacing,  gloved  fingers ; 
she  was  finding  it  difficult  to  say  what  she  must. 
Ivirkwood,  watching  hungrily  the  fair  drooping  head, 
the  flawless  profile  clear  and  radiant  against  the  night- 
blackened  window,  saw  hot  signals  of  shame  burning 
on  her  cheek  and  throat  and  forehead. 

"  But  never  mind,"  he  began  awkwardly. 

"  No,"  she  told  him  with  decision.  "  Please  let 
me  go  on.  .  .  ."  She  continued,  stumbling, 
trusting  to  his  sympathy  to  bridge  the  gaps  in  her 
narrative.  "  My  father  .  .  .  There  was  trou- 
ble of  some  sort  ...  At  all  events,  he  disap- 
peared when  I  was  a  baby.  My  mother  .  . 
died.  I  was  brought  up  in  the  home  of  my  great- 
uncle,  Colonel  George  Burgoyne,  of  the  Indian  Army 
—  retired.  My  mother  had  been  his  favorite  niece, 
they  say;  I  presume  that  was  why  he  cared  for  me. 


332  THE  BLACK  BAG 

I  grew  up  in  his  home  in  Cornwall ;  it  was  my  home, 
just  as  he  was  my  father  in  everything  but  fact. 

"  A  year  ago  he  died,  leaving  me  everything, —  the 
town  house  in  Frognall  Street,  his  estate  in  Corn- 
wall: everything  was  willed  to  me  on  condition  that 
'I  must  never  live  with  my  father,  nor  in  any  way 
contribute  to  his  support.  If  I  disobeyed,  the  en- 
tire estate  without  reserve  was  to  go  to  his  nearest 
of  kin.  .  .  .  Colonel  Burgoyne  was  unmarried 
and  had  no  children." 

The  girl  paused,  lifting  to  Kirkwood's  face  her 
eyes,  clear,  fearless,  truthful.  "  I  never  was  given 
to  understand  that  there  was  anybody  who  might 
have  inherited,  other  than  myself,"  she  declared. 

"  I  see     .     .     ." 

"  Last  week  I  received  a  letter,  signed  with  my 
father's  name,  begging  me  to  appoint  an  interview 
with  him  in  London.  I  did  so, —  guess  how  gladly  1 
I  was  alone  in  the  world,  and  he,  my  father,  whom 
I  had  never  thought  to  see  .  .  .  We  met  at 
his  hotel,  the  Pless.  He  wanted  me  to  come  and 
live  with  him, —  said  that  he  was  growing  old  and 
lonely  and  needed  a  daughter's  love  and  care.  He 
told  me  that  he  had  made  a  fortune  in  America  and 
was  amply  able  to  provide  for  us  both.  As  for  my 
inheritance,  he  persuaded  me  that  it  was  by  rights 
the  property  of  Frederick  Hallam,  Mrs.  Hallam's 
son." 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON   333 

"  I  have  met  the  young  gentleman,"  interpolated 
Kirkwood. 

"  His  name  was  new  to  me,  but  my  father  assured 
me  that  he  was  the  next  of  kin  mentioned  in  Colonel 
Burgoyne's  will,  and  convinced  me  that  I  had  no 
real  right  to  the  property.  .  .  .  After  all,  he 
was  my  father ;  I  agreed ;  I  could  not  bear  the  thought 
of  wronging  anybody.  I  was  to  give  up  everything 
but  my  mother's  jewels.  It  seems, —  my  father  said, 

—  I  don't  —  I  can't  believe  it  now  — 

She  choked  on  a  little,  dry  sob.  It  was  some  time 
before  she  seemed  able  to  continue. 

"  I  was  told  that  my  great-uncle's  collection  of 
jewels  had  been  my  mother's  property.  He  had  in 
life  a  passion  for  collecting  jewels,  and  it  had  been  his 
whim  to  carry  them  with  him,  wherever  he  went. 
When  he  died  in  Frognall  Street,  they  were  in  the  safe 
by  the  head  of  his  bed.  I,  in  my  grief,  at  first  forgot 
them,  and  then  afterwards  carelessly  put  off  removing 
them. 

"  To  come  back  to  my  father:  Night  before  last 
we  were  to  call  on  Mrs.  Hallam.  It  was  to  be  our 
last  night  in  England ;  we  were  to  sail  for  the  Conti- 
nent on  the  private  yacht  of  a  friend  of  my  father's, 
the  next  morning.  .  .  .  This  is  what  I  was  told 

—  and  believed,  you  understand. 

"  That  night  Mrs.  Hallam  was  dining  at  another 
table  at  the  Pless,  it  seems.  I  did  not  then  know 


334  THE  BLACK  BAG 

her.  When  leaving,  she  put  a  note  on  our  table, 
by  my  father's  elbow.  I  was  astonished  beyond 
words.  .  .  .  He  seemed  much  agitated,  told  me 
that  he  was  called  away  on  urgent  business,  a  matter 
of  life  and  death,  and  begged  me  to  go  alone  to  Frog- 
nail  Street,  get  the  jewels  and  meet  him  at  Mrs. 
lHallam's  later.  ...  I  wasn't  altogether  a  fool, 
for  I  began  dimly  to  suspect,  then,  that  something 
was  wrong;  but  I  was  a  fool,  for  I  consented  to  do 
as  he  desired.  You  understand  —  you  know  — ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  replied  Kirkwood  grimly.  "  I  un- 
derstand a  lot  of  things  now  that  I  didn't  five  minutes 
ago.  Please  let  me  think  .  .  ." 

But  the  time  he  took  for  deliberation  was  short. 
He  had  hoped  to  find  a  way  to  spare  her,  by  sparing 
Calendar;  but  momentarily  he  was  becoming  more 
impressed  with  the  futility  of  dealing  with  her  save 
in  terms  of  candor,  merciful  though  they  might  seem 
harsh. 

"  I  must  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that  you  have  been 
outrageously  misled,  swindled  and  deceived.  I  have 
heard  from  your  father's  own  lips  that  Mrs.  Hallam 
was  to  pay  him  two  thousand  pounds  for  keeping 
/you  out  of  England  and  losing  you  your  inheritance. 
I'm  inclined  to  question,  furthermore,  the  assertion 
that  these  jewels  were  your  mother's.  Frederick  Hal- 
lam  was  the  man  who  followed  you  into  the  Frog- 
nail  Street  house  and  attacked  me  on  the  stairs ;  Mrs. 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON   335 

Hallam  admits  that  he  went  there  to  get  the  jewels. 
But  he  didn't  want  anybody  to  know  it." 

"  But  that  doesn't  prove  — " 

"  Just  a  minute."  Rapidly  and  concisely  Kirk- 
wood  recounted  the  events  wherein  he  had  played  a 
part,  subsequent  to  the  adventure  of  Bermondsey  Old 
Stairs.  He  was  guilty  of  but  one  evasion ;  on  one 
point  only  did  he  slur  the  truth:  he  conceived  it  his 
honorable  duty  to  keep  the  girl  in  ignorance  of  his 
straitened  circumstances ;  she  was  not  to  be  distressed 
by  knowledge  of  his  distress,  nor  could  he  tolerate  the 
suggestion  of  seeming  to  play  for  her  sympathy.  It 
was  necessary,  then,  to  invent  a  motive  to  excuse  his 
return  to  9,  Frognall  Street,  I  believe  he  chose  to 
exaggerate  the  inquisitiveness  of  his  nature  and  threw 
in  for  good  measure  a  desire  to  recover  a  prized  trinket 
of  no  particular  moment,  esteemed  for  its  associations, 
and  so  forth.  But  whatever  the  fabrication,  it  passed 
muster ;  to  the  girl  his  motives  seemed  less  important 
than  the  discoveries  that  resulted  from  them. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  concluded  the  summary  of  the 
confabulation  he  had  overheard  at  the  skylight  of  the 
Alethea's  cabin,  "  you'd  best  make  up  your  mind  that 
your  father — " 

"  Yes,"  whispered  the  girl  huskily ;  and  turned  her 
face  to  the  window,  a  quivering  muscle  in  the  firm 
young  throat  alone  betraying  her  emotion. 

"  It's    a   bad   business,"   he   pursued    relentlessly : 


"  bad  all  round.  Mulready,  in  your  father's  pay, 
tries  to  have  him  arrested,  the  better  to  rob  him. 
Mrs.  Hallam,  to  secure  your  property  for  that 
precious  pet,  Freddie,  connives  at,  if  she  doesn't  in- 
stigate, a  kidnapping.  Your  father  takes  her  money 
to  deprive  you  of  yours, —  which  could  profit  him 
nothing  so  long  as  you  remained  in  lawful  possession 
of  it ;  and  at  the  same  time  he  conspires  to  rob, 
through  you,  the  rightful  owners  —  if  they  are  right- 
ful owners.  And  if  they  are,  why  does  Freddie 
Hallam  go  like  a  thief  in  the  night  to  secure  prop- 
erty that's  his  beyond  dispute?  ...  I  don't 
really  think  you  owe  your  father  any  further  con- 
sideration." 

He  waited  patiently.  Eventually,  "  No-o,"  the 
girl  sobbed  assent. 

"  It's  this  way :  Calendar,  counting  on  your  spar- 
ing him  in  the  end,  is  going  to  hound  us.  He's 
doing  it  now:  there's  Hobbs  in  the  next  car,  for 
proof.  Until  these  jewels  are  returned,  whether  to 
Frognall  Street  or  to  young  Hallam,  we're  both  in 
danger,  both  thieves  in  the  sight  of  the  law.  And 
your  father  knows  that,  too.  There's  no  profit  to  be 
had  by  discounting  the  temper  of  these  people ;  they're 
as  desperate  a  gang  of  swindlers  as  ever  lived. 
They'll  have  those  jewels  if  they  have  to  go  as  far  as 
murder  — " 

"  Mr.  Kirkwood ! "  she  deprecated,  in  horror. 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       337 

He  wagged  his  head  stubbornly,  ominously.  "  I've 
seen  them  in  the  raw.  They're  hot  on  our  trail  now ; 
ten  to  one,  they'll  be  on  our  backs  before  we  can  get 
across  the  Channel.  Once  in  England  we  will  be  com- 
paratively safe.  Until  then  .  .  .  But  I'm  a 
brute  —  I'm  frightening  you !  " 

"  You  are,  dreadfully,"  she  confessed  in  a  tremu- 
lous voice. 

"  Forgive  me.  If  you  look  at  the  dark  side  first, 
the  other  seems  all  the  brighter.  Please  don't  worry ; 
we'll  pull  through  with  flying  colors,  or  my  name's 
not  Philip  Kirkwood  !  " 

"  I  have  every  faith  in  you,"  she  informed  him, 
flawlessly  sincere.  "  When  I  think  of  all  you've  done 
and  dared  for  me,  on  the  mere  suspicion  that  I  needed 
your  help — ; 

"  We'd  best  be  getting  ready,"  he  interrupted  has- 
tily. "  Here's  Brussels." 

It  was  so.  Lights,  in  little  clusters  and  long, 
wheeling  lines,  were  leaping  out  of  the  darkness  and 
flashing  back  as  the  train  rumbled  through  the  sub- 
urbs of  the  little  Paris  of  the  North.  Already  the 
other  passengers  were  bestirring  themselves,  gather- 
ing together  wraps  and  hand  luggage,  and  preparing 
for  the  journey's  end. 

Rising,  Kirkwood  took  down  their  two  satchels 
from  the  overhead  rack,  and  waited,  in  grim  abstrac- 
tion planning  and  counterplanning  against  the 


338  THE  BLACK  BAG 

machinations  in  whose  wiles  they  two  had  become  so 
perilously  entangled. 

Primarily,  there  was  Hobbs  to  be  dealt  with;  no 
easy  task,  for  Kirkwood  dared  not  resort  to  violence 
nor  in  any  way  invite  the  attention  of  the  authorities ; 
and  threats  would  be  an  idle  waste  of  breath,  in  the 
case  of  that  corrupt  and  malignant  little  cockney, 
himself  as  keen  as  any  needle,  adept  in  all  the  art- 
ful resources  of  the  underworld  whence  he  had  sprung, 
and  further  primed  for  action  by  that  master  rogue, 
Calendar. 

The  train  was  pulling  slowly  into  the  station 
when  he  reluctantly  abandoned  his  latest  unfeasible 
scheme  for  shaking  off  the  little  Englishman,  and 
concluded  that  their  salvation  was  only  to  be  worked 
out  through  everlasting  vigilance,  incessant  move- 
ment, and  the  favor  of  the  blind  goddess,  Fortune. 
There  was  comfort  of  a  sort  in  the  reflection  that  the 
divinity  of  chance  is  at  least  blind;  her  favors  are 
impartially  distributed ;  the  swing  of  the  wheel  of  the 
world  is  not  always  to  the  advantage  of  the  wrong- 
doer and  the  scamp. 

He  saw  nothing  of  Hobbs  as  they  alighted  and 
hastened  from  the  station,  and  hardly  had  time  to 
waste  looking  for  him,  since  their  train  had  failed  to 
make  up  the  precious  ten  minutes.  Consequently  he 
dismissed  the  fellow  from  his  thoughts  until  —  with 
Brussels  lingering  in  their  memories  a  garish  vision 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       339 

of  brilliant  streets  and  glowing  cafes,  glimpsed  fur- 
tively from  their  cab  windows  during  its  wild  dash 
over  the  broad  mid-city,  boulevards  —  at  midnight 
they  settled  themselves  in  a  carriage  of  the  Bruges 
express.  They  were  speeding  along  through  the 
open  country  with  a  noisy  clatter;  then  a  minute's  in- 
vestigation sufficed  to  discover  the  mate  of  the  Alethea 
serenely  ensconced  in  the  coach  behind. 

The  little  man  seemed  rarely  complacent,  and  im- 
pudently greeted  Kirkwood's  scowling  visage,  as  the 
latter  peered  through  the  window  in  the  coach-door, 
with  a  smirk  and  a  waggish  wave  of  his  hand.  The 
American  by  main  strength  of  will-power  mastered  an 
impulse  to  enter  and  wring  his  neck,  and  returned  to 
the  girl,  more  disturbed  than  he  cared  to  let  her 
know. 

There  resulted  from  his  review  of  the  case  but  one 
plan  for  outwitting  Mr.  Hobbs,  and  that  lay  in  trust- 
ing to  his  confidence  that  Kirkwood  and  Dorothy 
Calendar  would  proceed  as  far  toward  Ostend  as  the 
train  would  take  them  —  namely,  to  the  limit  of  the 
run,  Bruges. 

Thus  inspired,  Kirkwood  took  counsel  with  the  girl, 
and  when  the  train  paused  at  Ghent,  they  made  an 
unostentatious  exit  from  their  coach,  finding  them- 
selves, when  the  express  had  rolled  on  into  the  west, 
upon  a  station  platform  in  a  foreign  city  at  nine  min- 
utes past  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  —  but  at  length 


340  THE  BLACK  BAG 

without  their  shadow.     Mr.  Hobbs  had  gone  on  to 
Bruges. 

Kirkwood  sped  his  journey  ings  with  an  unspoken 
malediction,  and  collected  himself  to  cope  with  a  sit- 
uation which  was  to  prove  hardly  more  happy  for 
them  than  the  espionage  they  had  just  eluded.  The 
primal  flush  of  triumph  which  had  saturated  the 
American's  humor  on  this  signal  success,  proved  but 
fictive  and  transitory  when  inquiry  of  the  station  at- 
tendants educed  the  information  that  the  two  earliest 
trains  to  be  obtained  were  the  5 :09  for  Dunkerque  and 
the  5:37  for  Ostend.  A  minimum  delay  of  four 
hours  was  to  be  endured  in  the  face  of  many  con- 
tingent features  singularly  unpleasant  to  contemplate. 
The  station  waiting-room  was  on  the  point  of  clos- 
ing for  the  night,  and  Kirkwood,  already  alarmed 
by  the  rapid  ebb  of  the  money  he  had  had  of  Calen- 
dar, dared  not  subject  his  finances  to  the  strain  of  a 
night's  lodging  at  one  of  Ghent's  hotels.  He  found 
himself  forced  to  be  cruel  to  be  kind  to  the  girl,  and 
Dorothy's  cheerful  acquiescence  to  their  sole  alterna- 
tive of  tramping  the  street  until  daybreak  did  noth- 
ing to  alleviate  Kirkwood's  exasperation. 

It  was  permitted  them  to  occupy  a  bench  outside ,, 
the  station.     There  the  girl,  her  head  pillowed  on  the 
treasure    bag,     napped     uneasily,     while     Kirkwood 
plodded  restlessly  to  and  fro,  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form, communing  with  the  Shade  of  Care  and  addling 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON   341 

his  poor,  weary  wits  with  the  problem  of  the  fu- 
ture,—  not  so  much  his  own  as  the  future  of  the 
unhappy  child  for  whose  welfare  he  had  assumed  re- 
sponsibility. Dark  for  both  of  them,  in  his  under- 
standing To-morrow  loomed  darkest  for  her. 

Not  until  the  gray,  formless  light  of  the  dawn- 
dusk  was  wavering  over  the  land,  did  he  cease  his 
perambulations.  Then  a  gradual  stir  of  life  in  the 
city  streets,  together  with  the  appearance  of  a  station 
porter  or  two,  opening  the  waiting-rooms  and  prepar- 
ing them  against  the  traffic  of  the  day,  warned  him 
that  he  must  rouse  his  charge.  He  paused  and  stood 
over  her,  reluctant  to  disturb  her  rest,  such  as  it 
was,  his  heart  torn  with  compassion  for  her,  his  soul 
embittered  by  the  cruel  irony  of  their  estate. 

If  what  he  understood  were  true,  a  king's  ransom 
was  secreted  within  the  cheap,  imitation-leather 
satchel  which  served  her  for  a  pillow.  But  it  availed 
her  nothing  for  her  comfort.  If  what  he  believed 
were  true,  she  was  absolute  mistress  of  that  treasure 
of  jewels;  yet  that  night  she  had  been  forced  to 
sleep  on  a  hard,  uncushioned  bench,  in  the  open  air, 
and  this  morning  he  must  waken  her  to  the  life  of 
a  hunted  thing.  A  week  ago  she  had  had  at  her 
command  every  luxury  known  to  the  civilized  world ; 
to-day  she  was  friendless,  but  for  his  inefficient,  worth- 
less self,  and  in  a  strange 'land.  A  week  ago, —  had 
he  known  her  then, —  he  had  been  free  to  tell  her  of 


342  THE  BLACK  BAG 

his  love,  to  offer  her  the  protection  of  his  name  as 
well  as  his  devotion;  to-day  he  was  an  all  but  penni- 
less vagabond,  and  there  could  be  no  dishonor  deeper 
than  to  let  her  know  the  nature  of  his  heart's  desire. 

Was  ever  lover  hedged  from  a  declaration  to  his 
mistress  by  circumstances  so  hateful,  so  untoward ! 
He  could  have  raged  and  railed  against  his  fate  like 
any  madman.  For  he  desired  her  greatly,  and  she 
was  very  lovely  in  his  sight.  If  her  night's  rest  had 
been  broken  and  but  a  mockery,  she  showed  few  signs 
of  it ;  the  faint,  wan  complexion  of  fatigue  seemed 
only  to  enhance  the  beauty  of  her  maidenhood ;  her 
lips  were  as  fresh  and  desirous  as  the  dewy  petals  of 
a  crimson  rose ;  beneath  her  eyes  soft  shadows  lurked 
where  her  lashes  lay  tremulous  upon  her  cheeks  of 
satin.  .  .  .  She  was  to  him  of  all  created  things 
the  most  wonderful,  the  most  desirable. 

The  temptation  of  his  longing  seemed  more  than 
he  could  long  withstand.  But  resist  he  must,  or  part 
for  ever  with  any  title  to  her  consideration  —  or  his 
own.  He  shut  his  teeth  and  knotted  his  brows  in  a 
transport  of  desire  to  touch,  if  only  with  his  finger- 
tips, the  woven  wonder  of  her  hair  .  .  . 

And  thus  she  saw  him,  when,  without  warning,  she 
awoke. 

Bewilderment  at  first  informed  the  wide  brown  eyes ; 
then,  as  their  drowsiness  vanished,  a  little  laughter,  a 
little  tender  mirth. 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON 

"  Good  morning,  Sir  Knight  of  the  Somber  Coun- 
tenance ! "  she  cried,  standing  up.  "  Am  I  so  ut- 
terly disreputable  that  you  find  it  necessary  to  frown 
on  me  so  darkly  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

"  I  know  I'm  a  fright,"  she  asserted  vigorously, 
shaking  out  the  folds  of  her  pleated  skirt.  "  And  as 
for  my  hat,  it  will  never  be  on  straight  —  but  then 
you  wouldn't  know." 

"  It  seems  all  right,"  he  replied  vacantly. 

"  Then  please  to  try  to  look  a  little  happier,  since 
you  find  me  quite  presentable." 

"  I  do     .     .     ." 

Without  lifting  her  bended  head,  she  looked  up, 
laughing,  not  ill-pleased.  "  You'd  say  so  ... 
really?" 

Commonplace  enough,  this  banter,  this  pitiful  en- 
deavor to  be  oblivious  of  their  common  misery;  but 
like  the  look  she  gave  him,  her  words  rang  in  his 
head  like  potent  fumes  of  wine.  He  turned  away, 
utterly  disconcerted  for  the  time,  knowing  only  that 
he  must  overcome  his  weakness. 

Far  down  the  railway  tracks  there  rose  a  mur- 
muring, that  waxed  to  a  rumbling  roar.  A  passing 
porter  answered  Kirkwood's  inquiry :  it  was  the  night 
boat-train  from  Ostend.  He  picked  up  their  bags 
and  drew  the  girl  into  the  waiting-room,  troubled  by 
a  sickening  foreboding. 


344  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Through  the  window  they  watched  the  train  roll  in 
and  stop. 

Among  others,  alighted,  smirking,  the  unspeakable 
Hobbs. 

He  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed  jauntily  to  the  waiting- 
room  window,  making  it  plain  that  his  keen  eyes  had 
discovered  them  instantly. 

Kirkwood's  heart  sank  with  the  hopelessness  of  it 
all.  If  the  railway  directorates  of  Europe  conspired 
against  them,  what  chance  had  they?  If  the  night 
boat-train  from  Ostend  had  only  had  the  decency  to 
be  twenty-five  minutes  late,  instead  of  arriving 
promptly  on  the  minute  of  4 :45  they  two  might  have 
escaped  by  the  5 :09  for  Dunkerque  and  Calais. 

There  remained  but  a  single  untried  ruse  in  his  bag 
of  tricks ;  mercifully  it  might  suffice. 

"  Miss  Calendar,"  said  Kirkwood  from  his  heart, 
"  just  as  soon  as  I  get  you  home,  safe  and  sound,  I 
am  going  to  take  a  day  off,  hunt  up  that  little 
villain,  and  flay  him  alive.  In  the  meantime,  I  forgot 
to  dine  last  night,  and  am  reminded  that  we  had  bet- 
ter forage  for  breakfast." 

Hobbs  dogged  them  at  a  safe  distance  while  they 
sallied  forth  and  in  a  neighboring  street  discovered  an 
early-bird  bakery.  Here  they  were  able  to  purchase 
*olls  steaming  from  the  oven,  fresh  pats  of  golden 
butter  wrapped  in  clean  lettuce  leaves,  and  milk  in 
twin  bottles;  all  of  which  they  prosaically  carried 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       345 

with  them  back  to  the  station,  lacking  leisure  as  they 
did  to  partake  of  the  food  before  train-time. 

Without  attempting  concealment  (Hobbs,  he  knew, 
was  eavesdropping  round  the  corner  of  the  door) 
Kirkwood  purchased  at  the  ticket-window  passages  on 
the  Dunkerque  train.  Mr.  Hobbs  promptly  flattered 
him  by  imitation;  and  so  jealous  of  his  luck  was 
Kirkwood  by  this  time  grown,  through  continual  dis- 
appointment, that  he  did  not  even  let  the  girl  into 
his  plans  until  they  were  aboard  the  5:09,  in  a  com- 
partment all  to  themselves.  Then,  having  with  his 
own  eyes  seen  Mr.  Hobbs  dodge  into  the  third  com- 
partment in  the  rear  of  the  same  carriage,  Kirkwood 
astonished  the  girl  by  requesting  her  to  follow  him; 
and  together  they  left  by  the  door  opposite  that  by 
which  they  had  entered. 

The  engine  was  running  up  and  down  a  scale  of 
staccato  snorts,  in  preparation  for  the  race,  and  the 
cars  were  on  the  edge  of  moving,  couplings  clanking, 
wheels  a-groan,  ere  Mr.  Hobbs  condescended  to  join 
them  between  the  tracks. 

Wearily,  disheartened,  Kirkwood  reopened  the 
door,  flung  the  bags  in,  and  helped  the  girl  back  into 
their  despised  compartment;  the  quicker  route  to 
England  via  Ostend  was  now  out  of  the  question. 
As  for  himself,  he  waited  for  a  brace  of  seconds,  ey- 
ing wickedly  the  ubiquitous  Hobbs,  who  had  popped 
back  into  his  compartment,  but  stood  ready  to  pop 


346  THE  BLACK  BAG 

out  again  on  the  least  encouragement.  In  the  mean- 
time he  was  pleased  to  shake  a  friendly  foot  at  Mr. 
Kirkwood,  thrusting  that  member  out  through  the 
half -open  door. 

Only  the  timely  departure  of  the  train,  compelling 
him  to  rejoin  Dorothy  at  once,  if  at  all,  prevented  the 
American  from  adding  murder  to  the  already  note- 
worthy catalogue  of  his  high  crimes  and  misde- 
meanors. 

Their  simple  meal,  consumed  to  the  ultimate  drop 
and  crumb  while  the  Dunkerque  train  meandered  se- 
renely through  a  sunny,  smiling  Flemish  country- 
side, somewhat  revived  their  jaded  spirits.  After  all, 
they  were  young,  enviably  dowered  with  youth's  ex- 
uberant elasticity  of  mood;  the  world  was  bright  in 
the  dawning,  the  night  had  fled  leaving  naught  but 
an  evil  memory ;  best  of  all  things,  they  were  to- 
gether: tacitly  they  were  agreed  that  somehow  the 
future  would  take  care  of  itself  and  all  be  well  with 
them. 

For  a  time  they  laughed  and  chattered,  pretend- 
ing that  the  present  held  no  cares  or  troubles ;  but 
soon  the  girl,  nestling  her  head  in  a  corner  of  the 
dingy  cushions,  was  smiling  ever  more  drowsily  on 
Kirkwood;  and  presently  she  slept  in  good  earnest, 
the  warm  blood  ebbing  and  flowing  beneath  the  ex- 
quisite texture  of  her  cheeks,  the  ghost  of  an  uncon- 
scious smile  quivering  about  the  sensitive  scarlet 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON   347 

mouth,  the  breeze  through  the  open  window  at  her 
side  wantoning  at  will  in  the  sunlit  witchery  of  her 
hair.  And  Kirkwood,  worn  with  sleepless  watching, 
dwelt  in  longing  upon  the  dear  innocent  allure  of  her 
until  the  ache  in  his  heart  had  grown  well-nigh 
insupportable;  then  instinctively  turned  his  gaze  up- 
wards, searching  his  heart,  reading  the  faith  and 
desire  of  it,  so  that  at  length  knowledge  and  under- 
standing came  to  him,  of  his  weakness  and  strength 
and  the  clean  love  that  he  bore  for  her,  and  glad- 
dened he  sat  dreaming  in  waking  the  same  clear 
dreams  that  modeled  her  unconscious  lips  secretly  for 
laughter  and  the  joy  of  living. 

When  Dunkerque  halted  their  progress,  they  were 
obliged  to  alight  and  change  cars, —  Hobbs  a  dis- 
creetly sinister  shadow  at  the  end  of  the  platform. 

By  schedule  they  were  to  arrive  in  Calais  about 
the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  with  a  wait  of  three  hours 
to  be  bridged  before  the  departure  of  the  Dover  packet. 
That  would  be  an  anxious  time;  the  prospect  of  it 
rendered  both  Dorothy  and  Kirkwood  doubly  anx- 
ious throughout  this  final  stage  of  their  flight.  In 
three  hours  anything  could  happen,  or  be  brought 
about.  Neither  could  forget  that  it  was  quite  within 
the  bounds  of  possibilities  for  Calendar  to  be  await- 
ing them  in  Calais.  Presuming  that  Hobbs  had  been 
acute  enough  to  guess  their  plans  and  advise  his 
employer  by  telegraph,  the  latter  could  readily  have 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

anticipated  their  arrival,  whether  by  sea  in  the  brigan- 
tine,  or  by  land,  taking  the  direct  route  via  Brussels 
and  Lille.  If  such  proved  to  be  the  case,  it  were 
scarcely  sensible  to  count  upon  the  arch-adventurer 
contenting  himself  with  a  waiting  role  like  Hobbs'. 

With  such  unhappy  apprehensions  for  a  stimulant, 
between  them  the  man  and  the  girl  contrived  a  make- 
shift counter-stratagem ;  or  it  were  more  accurate  to 
say  that  Kirkwood  proposed  it,  while  Dorothy  re- 
jected, disputed,  and  at  length  accepted  it,  albeit  with 
sad  misgivings.  For  it  involved  a  separation  that 
might  not  prove  temporary. 

Together  they  could  never  escape  the  surveillance 
of  Mr.  Hobbs ;  parted,  he  would  be  obliged  to  follow 
one  or  the  other.  The  task  of  misleading  the 
Alethea's  mate,  Kirkwood  undertook,  delegating  to  the 
girl  the  duty  of  escaping  when  he  could  provide  her 
the  opportunity,  of  keeping  under  cover  until  the 
hour  of  sailing,  and  then  proceeding  to  England,  with 
the  gladstone  bag,  alone  if  Kirkwood  was  unable,  or 
thought  it  inadvisable,  to  join  her  on  the  boat. 

In  furtherance  of  this  design,  a  majority  of  the 
girl's  belongings  were  transferred  from  her  travel- 
ing bag  to  Kirkwood's,  the  gladstone  taking  their 
place ;  and  the  young  man  provided  her  with  vol- 
uminous instructions,  a  revolver  which  she  did  not 
know  how  to  handle  and  declared  she  would  never 
use  for  any  consideration,  and  enough  money  to 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON      349 

pay  for  her  accommodation  at  the  Terminus  Hotel, 
near  the  pier,  and  for  two  passages  to  London.  It 
was  agreed  that  she  should  secure  the  steamer  book- 
ing, lest  Kirkwood  be  delayed  until  the  last  moment. 

These  arrangements  concluded,  the  pair  of  blessed 
idiots  sat  steeped  in  melancholy  silence,  avoiding  each 
other's  eyes,  until  the  train  drew  in  at  the  Gare  Cen- 
trale,  Calais. 

In  profound  silence,  too,  they  left  their  compart- 
ment and  passed  through  the  station,  into  the  quiet, 
sun-drenched  streets  of  the  seaport, —  Hobbs  hovering 
solicitously  in  the  offing. 

Without  comment  or  visible  relief  of  mind  they 
were  aware  that  their  fears  had  been  without  apparent 
foundation ;  they  saw  no  sign  of  Calendar,  Stryker 
or  Mulready.  The  circumstance,  however,  counted 
for  nothing;  one  or  all  of  the  adventurers  might  ar- 
rive in  Calais  at  any  minute. 

Momentarily  more  miserable  as  the  time  of  parting 
drew  nearer,  dumb  with  unhappiness,  they  turned 
aside  from,  the  main  thoroughfares  of  the  city,  leav- 
ing the  business  section,  and  gained  the  sleepier  side 
streets,  bordered  by  the  residences  of  the  proletariat, 
where  for  blocks  none  but  children  were  to  be  seen,  and 
of  them  but  few  —  quaint,  sober  little  bodies  playing 
almost  noiselessly  in  their  dooryards. 

At  length  Kirkwood  spoke. 

"  Let's    make    it    the    corner,"    he    said,    without 


350  THE  BLACK  BAG 

looking  at  the  girl.  "  It's  a  short  block  to  the 
next  street.  You  hurry  to  the  Terminus  and  lock 
yourself  in  your  room.  Have  the  management  book 
both  passages ;  don't  run  the  risk  of  going  to  the 
pier  yourself.  I'll  make  things  interesting  for  Mr. 
Hobbs,  and  join  you  as  soon  as  I  can,  if  I  can." 

"  You  must,"  replied  the  girl.  "  I  shan't  go  with- 
out you." 

"  But,  Dor  —  Miss  Calendar !  "  he  exclaimed, 
aghast. 

"  I  don't  care  —  I  know  I  agreed,"  she  declared 
mutinously.  "  But  I  won't  —  I  can't.  Remember 
I  shall  wait  for  you." 

"  But  —  but  perhaps  — " 

"  If  you  have  to  stay,  it  will  be  because  there's  dan- 
ger —  won't  it  ?  And  what  would  you  think  of  me 
if  I  deserted  you  then,  af-after  all  y-you've  done? 
Please  don't  waste  time  arguing.  Whether 
you  come  at  one  to-day,  to-morrow,  or  a  week  from 
to-morrow,  I  shall  be  waiting.  .  .  .  You  may  be 
sure.  Good-by." 

They  had  turned  the  corner,  walking  slowly,  side  by 
side;  Hobbs,  for  the  first  time  caught  off  his  guard, 
had  dropped  behind  more  than  half  a  long  block. 
But  now  Kirkwood's  quick  sidelong  glance  discovered 
the  mate  in  the  act  of  taking  alarm  and  quickening  his 
pace.  None  the  less  the  American  was  at  the  time 
barely  conscious  of  anything  other  than  a  wholly 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       351 

unexpected  furtive  pressure  of  the  girl's  gloved  fingers 
on  his  own. 

"  Good-by,"  she  whispered. 

He  caught  at  her  hand,  protesting.  "  Dor- 
othy —  !" 

"  Good-by,"  she  repeated  breathlessly,  with  a  queer 
little  catch  in  her  voice.  "  God  be  with  you,  Philip, 
and  —  and  send  you  safely  back  to  me  .  .  ." 

And  she  was  running  away. 

Dumfounded  with  dismay,  seeing  in  a  flash  how  all 
his  plans  might  be  set  at  naught  by  this  her  unfore- 
seen insubordination,  he  took  a  step  or  two  after  her ; 
but  she  was  fleet  of  foot,  and,  remembering  Hobbs,  he 
halted. 

By  this  time  the  mate,  too,  was  running ;  Kirkwood 
could  hear  the  heavy  pounding  of  his  clumsy  feet. 
Already  Dorothy  had  almost  gained  the  farther  cor- 
ner; as  she  whisked  round  it  with  a  flutter  of  skirts, 
Kirkwood  dodged  hastily  behind  a  gate-post.  A 
thought  later,  Hobbs  appeared,  head  down,  chest  out, 
eyes  straining  for  sight  of  his  quarry,  pelting  along 
for  dear  life. 

As,  rounding  the  corner,  he  stretched  out  in  swifter 
stride,  Kirkwood  was  inspired  to  put  a  spoke  in  his 
wheel ;  and  a  foot  thrust  suddenly  out  from  behind  the 
gate-post  accomplished  his  purpose  with  more  suc- 
cess than  he  had  dared  anticipate.  Stumbling,  the 
mate  plunged  headlong,  arms  and  legs  a-sprawl ;  and 


352  THE  BLACK  BAG 

the  momentum  of  his  pace,  though  checked,  carried 
him  along  the  sidewalk,  face  downwards,  a  full  yard 
ere  he  could  stay  himself. 

Kirkwood  stepped  out  of  the  gateway  and  sheered 
off  as  Hobbs  picked  himself  up ;  something  which  he 
did  rather  slowly,  as  if  in  a  daze,  without  compre- 
hension of  the  cause  of  his;  misfortune.  And  for  a 
moment  he  stood  pulling  his  wits  together  and  sway- 
ing as  though  on  the  point  of  resuming  his  rudely 
interrupted  chase ;  when  the  noise  of  Kirkwood's  heels 
brought  him  about  face  in  a  twinkling. 

"  Ow,  it's  you,  eh !  "  he  snarled  in  a  temper  as 
vicious  as  his  countenance;  and  both  of  these  were 
much  the  worse  for  wear  and  tear. 

"  Myself,"  admitted  Kirkwood  fairly ;  and  then,  in 
a  gleam  of  humor:  "  Weren't  you  looking  for  me?  " 

His  rage  seemed  to  take  the  little  Cockney  and 
shake  him  by  the  throat;  he  trembled  from  head  to 
foot,  his  face  shockingly  congested,  and  spat  out  dust 
and  fragments  of  lurid  blasphemy  like  an  infuriated 
cat. 

Of  a  sudden,  "  W'ere's  the  gel  ? "  he  sputtered 
thickly  as  his  quick  shifting  eyes  for  the  first  time 
noted  Dorothy's  absence. 

"  Miss  Calendar  has  other  business  —  none  with 
you.  I've  taken  the  liberty  of  stopping  you  because 
I  have  a  word  or  two  — " 

"  Ow,  you  'ave,  'ave  you?     Gawd  strike  me  blind, 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON   353 

but  I've  a  word  for  you,  too!  .  .  .  'And  over 
that  bag  —  and  look  nippy,  or  I'll  myke  you  pye  for 
w'at  you've  done  to  me  .  .  .  I'll  myke  you 
pye !  "  he  iterated  hoarsely,  edging  closer.  "  'And  it 
over  or — " 

"  You've  got  another  guess  — "  Kirkwood  began, 
but  saved  his  breath  in  deference  to  an  imperative 
demand  on  him  for  instant  defensive  action. 

To  some  extent  he  had  underestimated  the  brute 
courage  of  the  fellow,  the  violent,  desperate  courage 
that  is  distilled  of  anger  in  men  of  his  kind.  De- 
spising him,  deeming  him  incapable  of  any  overt 
act  of  villainy,  Kirkwood  had  been  a  little  less  wary 
than  he  would  have  been  with  Calendar  or  Mulready. 
Hobbs  had  seemed  more  of  the  craven  type  which 
Stryker  graced  so  conspicuously.  But  now  the  Amer- 
ican was  to  be  taught  discrimination,  to  learn  that  if 
Stryker's  nature  was  like  a  snake's  for  low  cunning 
and  deviousness,  Hobbs'  soul  was  the  soul  of  a  viper. 

Almost  imperceptibly  he  had  advanced  upon  Kirk- 
wood ;  almost  insensibly  his  right  hand  had  moved  to- 
ward his  chest;  now,  with  a  movement  marvelously 
deft,  it  had  slipped  in  and  out  of  his  breast  pocket. 
And  a  six-inch  blade  of  tarnished  steel  was  winging 
toward  Kirkwood's  throat  with  the  speed  of  light. 

Instinctively  he  stepped  back;  as  instinctively  he 
guarded  with  his  right  forearm,  lifting  the  hand  that 
held  the  satchel.  The  knife,  catching  in  his  sleeve, 


354  THE  BLACK  BAG 

scratched  the  arm  beneath  painfully,  and  simulta- 
neously was  twisted  from  the  mate's  grasp,  while  in  his 
surprise  Kirkwood's  grip  on  the  bag-handle  relaxed. 
It  was  torn  forcibly  from  his  fingers  just  as  he  re- 
ceived a  heavy  blow  on  his  chest  from  the  mate's  fist. 
£He  staggered  back. 

By  the  time  he  had  recovered  from  the  shock,  Hobbs 
was  a  score  of  feet  away,  the  satchel  tucked  under 
his  arm,  his  body  bent  almost  double,  running  like  a 
jack-rabbit.  Ere  Kirkwood  could  get  under  way,  in 
pursuit,  the  mate  had  dodged  out  of  sight  round  the 
corner.  When  the  American  caught  sight  of  him 
again,  he  was  far  down  the  block,  and  bettering  his 
pace  with  every  jump. 

He  was  approaching,  also,  some  six  or  eight  good 
citizens  of  Calais,  men  of  the  laboring  class,  at  a 
guess.  Their  attention  attracted  by  his  frantic 
flight,  they  stopped  to  wonder.  One  or  two  moved 
as  though  to  intercept  him,  and  he  doubled  out  into 
the  middle  of  the  street  with  the  quickness  of  thought ; 
an  instant  later  he  shot  round  another  corner 
and  disappeared,  the  natives  streaming  after  in  hot 
chase,  electrified  by  the  inspiring  strains  of  "  Stop, 
thief !  " —  or  its  French  equivalent. 

Kirkwood,  cheering  them  on  with  the  same  wild 
cry,  followed  to  the  farther  street ;  and  there  paused, 
so  winded  and  weak  with  laughter  that  he  was  fain 
to  catch  at  a  fence  picket  for  support.  Standing 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON   355 

thus  he  saw  other  denizens  of  Calais  spring  as  if  from 
the  ground  miraculously  to  swell  the  hue  and  cry ;  and 
a  dumpling  of  a  gendarme  materialized  from  no- 
where at  all,  to  fall  in  behind  the  rabble,  waving  his 
sword  above  his  head  and  screaming  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs,  the  while  his  fat  legs  twinkled  for  all  the  world 
like  thick  sausage  links  marvelously  animated. 

The  mob  straggled  round  yet  another  corner  and 
was  gone;  its  clamor  diminished  on  the  still  Spring 
air;  and  Kirkwood,  recovering,  abandoned  Mr.  Hobbs 
to  the  justice  of  the  high  gods  and  the  French  sys- 
tem of  jurisprudence  (at  least,  he  hoped  the  latter 
would  take  an  interest  in  the  case,  if  haply  Hobbs 
were  laid  by  the  heels),  and  went  his  way  rejoicing. 

As  for  the  scratch  on  his  arm,  it  was  nothing,  as 
he  presently  demonstrated  to  his  complete  satisfac- 
tion in  the  seclusion  of  a  chance-sent  fiacre.  Kirk- 
wood,  commissioning  it  to  drive  him  to  the  American 
Consulate,  made  his  diagnosis  en  route;  wound  a  hand- 
kerchief round  the  negligible  wound,  rolled  down  his 
sleeve,  and  forgot  it  altogether  in  the  joys  of  pictur- 
ing to  himself  Hobbs  in  the  act  of  opening  the  satchel 
in  expectation  of  finding  therein  the  gladstone  bag. 

At  the  consulate  door  he  paid  off  the  driver  and 
dismissed  him,;  the  fiacre  had  served  his  purpose,  and 
he  could  find  his  way  to  the  Terminus  Hotel  at  in- 
finitely less  expense.  He  had  a  considerably  harder 
task  before  him  as  he  ascended  the  steps  to  the  con- 


356  THE  BLACK  BAG 

sular  doorway,  knocked  and  made  known  the  nature 
of  his  errand. 

No  malicious  destiny  could  have  timed  the  hour  of 
his  call  more  appositely;  the  consul  was  at  home  and 
at  the  disposal  of  his  fellow-citizens  —  within  bounds. 

In  the  course  of  thirty  minutes  or  so  Kirkwood 
emerged  with  dignity  from  the  consulate,  his  face 
crimson  to  the  hair,  his  soul  smarting  with  shame 
and  humiliation ;  and  left  an  amused  official  repre- 
sentative of  his  country's  government  with  the  im- 
pression of  having  been  entertained  to  the  point  of 
ennui  by  an  exceptionally  clumsy  but  pertinacious 
liar. 

For  the  better  part  of  the  succeeding  hour  Kirk- 
wood  circumnavigated  the  neighborhood  of  the 
steamer  pier  and  the  Terminus  Hotel,  striving  to  ren- 
der himself  as  inconspicuous  as  he  felt  insignificant, 
and  keenly  on  the  alert  for  any  sign  or  news  of  Hobbs. 
In  this  pursuit  he  was  pleasantly  disappointed. 

At  noon  precisely,  his  suspense  grown  too  onerous 
for  his  strength  of  will,  throwing  caution  and  their 
understanding  to  the  winds,  he  walked  boldly  into  the 
Terminus,  and  inquired  for  Miss  Calendar. 

The  assurance  he  received  that  she  was  in  safety 
under  its  roof  did  not  deter  him  from  sending  up 
his  name  and  asking  her  to  receive  him  in  the  public 
lounge;  he  required  the  testimony,  of  his  senses  to 
convince  him  that  no  harm  had  come  to  her  in  the  long 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       357 

hour  and  a  half  that  had  elapsed  since  their  separa- 
tion. 

Woman-like,  she  kept  him  waiting.  Alone  in  the 
public  rooms  of  the  hotel,  he  suffered  excruciating 
torments.  How  was  he  to  know  that  Calendar  had 
not  arrived  and  found  his  way  to  her? 

When  at  length  she  appeared  on  the  threshold  of 
the  apartment,  bringing  with  her  the  traveling  bag 
and  looking  wonderfully  the  better  for  her  ninety 
minutes  of  complete  repose  and  privacy,  the  relief 
he  experienced  was  so  intense  that  he  remained  trans- 
fixed in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  momentarily  able 
neither  to  speak  nor  to  move. 

On  her  part,  so  fagged  and  distraught  did  he  seem, 
that  at  sight  of  his  care-worn  countenance  she  hur- 
ried to  him  with  outstretched,  compassionate  hands 
and  a  low  pitiful  cry  of  concern,  forgetful  entirely 
of  that  which  he  himself  had  forgotten  —  the  emo- 
tion she  had  betrayed  on  parting. 

"  Oh,  nothing  wrong,"  he  hastened  to  reassure  her, 
with  a  sorry  ghost  of  his  familiar  grin ;  "  only  I 
have  lost  Hobbs  and  the  satchel  with  your  things  ;  and 
there's  no  sign  yet  of  Mr.  Calendar.  We  can  feel 
pretty  comfortable  now,  and  —  and  I  thought  it  time 
we  had  something  like  a  meal.'* 

The  narrative  of  his  adventure  which  he  delivered 
over  their  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette  contained  no  men- 
tion either  of  his  rebuff  at  the  American  Consulate 


358  THE  BLACK  BAG 

or  the  scratch  he  had  sustained  during  Hobbs'  mur- 
derous assault;  the  one  could  not  concern  her,  the 
other  would  seem  but  a  bid  for  her  sympathy.  He 
counted  it  a  fortunate  thing  that  the  mate's  knife 
had  been  keen  enough  to  penetrate  the  cloth  of  his 
sleeve  without  tearing  it;  the  slit  it  had  left  was 
barely  noticeable.  And  he  purposely  diverted  the  girl 
with  flashes  of  humorous  description,  so  that  they  dis- 
cussed both  meal  and  episode  in  a  mood  of  wholesome 
merriment. 

It  was  concluded,  all  too  soon  for  the  taste  of  either, 
by  the  waiter's  announcement  that  the  steamer  was  on 
the  point  of  sailing. 

Outwardly  composed,  inwardly  quaking,*  they 
boarded  the  packet,  meeting  with  no  misadventure 
whatever  —  if  we  are  to  except  the  circumstance  that, 
when  the  restaurant  bill  was  settled  and  the  girl  had 
punctiliously  surrendered  his  change  with  the  tickets, 
Kirkwood  found  himself  in  possession  of  precisely  one 
franc  and  twenty  centimes. 

He  groaned  in  spirit  to  think  how  differently  he 
<might  have  been  fixed,  had  he  not  in  his  infatuated 
spirit  of  honesty  been  so  anxious  to  give  Calendar 
more  than  ample  value  for  his  money ! 

An  inexorable  anxiety  held  them  both  near  the 
gangway  until  it  was  cast  off  and  the  boat  began  to 
draw  away  from  the  pier.  Then,  and  not  till  then, 
did  an  unimpressive,  small  figure  of  a  man  detach 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  CHAPERON       359 

itself  from  the  shield  of  a  pile  of  luggage  and  ad- 
vance to  the  pier-head.  No  second  glance  was  needed 
to  identify  Mr.  Hobbs;  and  until  the  perspective 
dwarfed  him  indistinguishably,  he  was  to  be  seen, 
alternately  waving  Kirkwood  ironic  farewell  and 
blowing  violent  kisses  to  Miss  Calendar  from  the  tips 
of  his  soiled  fingers. 

So  he  had  escaped  arrest. 

At  first  by  turns  indignant  and  relieved  to  realize 
that  thereafter  they  were  to  move  in  scenes  in  which 
his  hateful  shadow  would  not  form  an  essentially  com- 
ponent part,  subsequently  Kirkwood  fell  a  prey  to 
prophetic  terrors.  It  was  not  alone  fear  of  retribu- 
tion that  had  induced  Hobbs  to  relinquish  his  perse- 
cution —  or  so  Kirkwood  became  convinced ;  if  the 
mate's  calculation  had  allowed  for  them  the  least  frac- 
tion of  a  chance  to  escape  apprehension  on  the  far- 
ther shores  of  the  Channel,  nor  fears  nor  threats 
would  have  prevented  him  from  sailing  with  the  fugi- 
tives. .  .  .  Far  from  having  left  danger  behind 
them  on  the  Continent,  Kirkwood  believed  in  his  se- 
cret heart  that  they  were  but  flying  to  encounter  it;, 
beneath  the  smoky  pall  of  London. 


XVII 

ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS 

A  westering  sun  striking  down  through  the  drab 
exhalations  of  ten-thousand  sooty  chimney-pots, 
tinted  the  atmosphere  with  the  hue  of  copper.  The 
glance  that  wandered  purposelessly  out  through  the 
carriage  windows,  recoiled,  repelled  by  the  endless 
dreary  vista  of  the  Surrey  Side's  unnumbered  roofs ; 
or,  probing  instantaneously  the  hopeless  depths  of 
some  grim  narrow  thoroughfare  fleetingly  disclosed, 
as  the  evening  boat-train  from  Dover  swung  on  to- 
ward Charing  Cross,  its  trucks  level  with  the  eaves 
of  Southwark's  dwellings,  was  saddened  by  the 
thought  that  in  all  the  world  squalor  such  as  this 
should  obtain  and  flourish  unrelieved. 

For  perhaps  the  tenth  time  in  the  course  of  the 
journey  Kirkwood  withdrew  his  gaze  from  the  win- 
dow and  turned  to  the  girl,  a  question  ready  framed 
upon  his  lips. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  — "  he  began ;  and  then,  alive 
to  the  clear  and  penetrating  perception  in  the  brown 
eyes  that  smiled  into  his  from  under  their  level  brows, 
he  stammered  and  left  the  query  uncompleted. 

360 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS          361 

Continuing  to  regard  him  steadily  and  smilingly, 
Dorothy  shook  her  head  in  playful  denial  and  pro- 
test. "  Do  you  know,"  she  commented,  "  that  this  is 
about  the  fifth  repetition  of  that  identical  question 
within  the  last  quarter-hour?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  what  I  meant  to  say  ?  "  he 
demanded,  staring. 

"  I  can  see  it  in  your  eyes.  Besides,  you've  talked 
and  thought  of  nothing  else  since  we  left  the  boat. 
Won't  you  believe  me,  please,  when  I  say  there's  ab- 
solutely not  a  soul  in  London  to  whom  I  could  go 
and  ask  for  shelter?  I  don't  think  it's  very  nice  of 
you  to  be  so  openly  anxious  to  get  rid  of  me." 

This  latter  was  so  essentially  undeserved  and  so 
artlessly  insincere,  that  he  must  needs,  of  course,  treat 
it  with  all  seriousness. 

"  That  isn't  fair,  Miss  Calendar.     Really  It's  not." 

"  What  am  I  to  think?  I've  told  you  any  num- 
ber of  times  that  it's  only  an  hour's  ride  on  to  Chil- 
tern,  where  the  Pyrfords  will  be  glad  to  take  me  in. 
You  may  depend  upon  it, —  by  eight  to-night,  at 
the  latest,  you'll  have  me  off  your  hands, —  the  drag 
and  worry  that  I've  been  ever  since  — " 

"Don't!"      he     pleaded     vehemently.     "Please! 

You  know  it  isn't  that.     I  don't  want  you 

off  my  hands,  ever.     .     .     .     That  is  to  say,  I  —  ah 

— "     Here  he  was  smitten  with  a  dumbness,  and  sat, 

aghast  at  the  enormity  of  his  blunder,  entreating  her 


362  THE  BLACK  BAG 

forgiveness  with  eyes  that,  very  likely,  pleaded  his 
cause  more  eloquently  than  he  guessed. 

"  I  mean,"  he  floundered  on  presently,  in  the  fatu- 
ous belief  that  he  would  this  time  be  able  to  control 
both  mind  and  tongue,  "  what  I  mean  is  I'd  be  glad 
to  go  on  serving  you  in  any  way  I  might,  to  the  end 
of  time,  if  you'd  give  me  .  .  ." 

He  left  the  declaration  inconclusive  —  a  stroke  of 
diplomacy  that  would  have  graced  an  infinitely  more 
adept  wooer.  But  he  used  it  all  unconsciously.  "  O 
Lord !  "  he  groaned  in  spirit.  "  Worse  and  more  of 
it!  Why  in  thunder  can't  I  say  the  right  thing 
right?  " 

Egotistically  absorbed  by  the  problem  thus  for- 
mulated, he  was  heedless  of  her  failure  to  respond, 
and  remained  pensively  preoccupied  until  roused  by 
the  grinding  and  jolting  of  the  train,  as  it  slowed  to 
a  halt  preparatory  to  crossing  the  bridge. 

Then  he  sought  to  read  his  answer  in  the  eyes  of 
Dorothy.  But  she  was  looking  away,  staring 
thoughtfully  out  over  the  billowing  sea  of  roofs  that 
merged  illusively  into  the  haze  long  ere  it  reached  the 
horizon ;  and  Kirkwood  could  see  the  pulsing  of  the 
warm  blood  in  her  throat  and  cheeks ;  and  the  glamor- 
ous light  that  leaped  and  waned  in  her  eyes,  as  the 
ruddy  evening  sunlight  warmed  them,  was  something 
any  man  might  be  glad  to  live  for  and  die  for. 
And  he  saw  that  she  had  understood,  had 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  363 

grasped  the  thread  of  meaning  that  ran  through  the 
clumsy  fabric  of  his  halting  speech  and  his  sudden  si- 
lences. 

She  had  understood  without  resentment! 

While,  incredulous,  he  wrestled  with  the  wonder  of 
this  fond  discovery,  she  grew  conscious  of  his  gaze, 
and  turned  her  head  to  meet  it  with  one  fearless  and 
sweet,  if  troubled. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Kirkwood,"  she  said  gently,  bending 
forward  as  if  to  read  between  the  lines  anxiety  had 
graven  on  his  countenance,  "  won't  you  tell  me,  please, 
what  it  can  be  that  so  worries  you?  Is  it  possible 
that  you  still  have  a  fear  of  my  father?  But  don't 
you  know  that  he  can  do  nothing  now  —  now  that 
we're  safe?  We  have  only  to  take  a  cab  to  Padding- 
ton  Station,  and  then  — " 

"  You  mustn't  underestimate  the  resource  and  abil- 
ity of  Mr.  Calendar,"  he  told  her  gloomily ;  "  we've 
got  a  chance  —  no  more.  It  wasn't  ..."  He 
shut  his  teeth  on  his  unruly  tongue  —  too  late. 

Woman-quick  she  caught  him  up.  "  It  wasn't 
that?  Then  what  was  it  that  worried  you?  If  it's 
something  that  affects  me,  is  it  kind  and  right  of  you 
not  to  tell  me?  " 

"  It  —  it  affects  us  both,"  he  conceded  drearily. 
"  I  —  I  don't  — " 

The  wretched  embarrassment  of  the  confession  be- 
fogged his  wits ;  he  felt  unable  to  frame  the  words~ 


364  THE  BLACK  BAG 

He  appealed  speechlessly  for  tolerance,  with  a  face 
utterly  woebegone  and  eyes  piteous. 

The  train  began  to  move  slowly  across  the  Thames 
to  Charing  Cross. 

Mercilessly  the  girl  persisted.  "  We've  only  a  min- 
ute more.  Surely  you  can  trust  me.  .  .  ." 

In  exasperation  he  interrupted  almost  rudely. 
"  It's  only  this :  I  —  I'm  strapped." 

"  Strapped? "  She  knitted  her  brows  over  this 
fresh  specimen  of  American  slang. 

"  Flat  strapped  —  busted  —  broke  —  on  my  up- 
pers—  down  and  out,"  he  reeled  off  synonyms 
without  a  smile.  "  I  haven't  enough  money  to  pay 
cab-fare  across  the  town  — ' 

"  Oh  !  "  she  interpolated,  enlightened. 

" — to  say  nothing  of  taking  us  to  Chiltern.  I 
couldn't  buy  you  a  glass  of  water  if  you  were  thirsty. 
There  isn't  a  soul  on  earth,  within  hail,  who  would 
trust  me  with  a  quarter  —  I  mean  a  shilling  —  across 
London  Bridge.  I'm  the  original  Luckless  Wonder 
and  the  only  genuine  Jonah  extant." 

With  a  face  the  hue  of  fire,  he  cocked  his  eyebrows 
askew  and  attempted  to  laugh  unconcernedly  to  hide 
his  bitter  shame.  "  I've  led  you  out  of  the  frying- 
pan  into  the  fire,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do! 
Please  call  me  names." 

And  in  a  single  instant  all  that  he  had  consistently 
tried  to  avoid  doing,  had  been  irretrievably  done;  if, 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  365 

with  dawning  comprehension,  dismay  flickered  in  her 
eyes  —  such  dismay  as  such  a  confession  can  rouse 
only  in  one  who,  like  Dorothy  Calendar,  has  never 
known  the  want  of  a  penny  —  it  was  swiftly  driven 
out  to  make  place  for  the  truest  and  most  gracious 
and  unselfish  solicitude. 

"  Oh,  poor  Mr.  Kirkwood !  And  it's  all  because  of 
me!  You've  beggared  yourself — " 

"  Not  precisely ;  I  was  beggared  to  begin  with." 
He  hastened  to  disclaim  the  extravagant  generosity 
of  which  she  accused  him.  "  I  had  only  three  or  four 
pounds  to  my  name  that  night  we  met.  ...  I 
haven't  told  you  —  I  — " 

"  You've  told  me  nothing,  nothing  whatever  about 
yourself/'  she  said  reproachfully. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  bother  you  with  my  troubles ; 
I  tried  not  to  talk  about  myself.  .  .  .  You  knew 
I  was  an  American,  but  I'm  worse  than  that;  I'm  a 
Calif ornian  —  from  San  Francisco."  He  tried  un- 
successfully to  make  light  of  it.  "  I  told  you  I  was 
the  Luckless  Wonder;  if  I'd  ever  had  any  luck  I 
would  have  stored  a  little  money  away.  As  it  was, 
I  lived  on  my  income,  left  my,  principal  in  'Frisco; 
and  when  the  earthquake  came,  it  wiped  me  out  com- 
pletely." 

"  And  you  were  going  home  that  night  we  made 
you  miss  your  steamer ! " 

"  It  was  my  own  fault,  and  I'm  glad  this  blessed 


366  THE  BLACK  BAG 

minute  that  I  did  miss  it.     Nice  sort  I'd  have  been, 
to  go  off  and  leave  you  at  the  mercy  — " 

"  Please !  I  want  to  think,  I'm  trying  to  remem- 
ber how  much  you've  gone  through — " 

"  Precisely  what  I  don't  want  you  to  do.  Anyway, 
I  did  nothing  more  than  any  other  fellow  would  'vet 
Please  don't  give  me  credit  that  I  don't  deserve." 

But  she  was  not  listening;  and  a  pause  fell,  while 
the  train  crawled  warily  over  the  trestle,  as  if  in  fear 
of  the  foul,  muddy  flood  below. 

"  And  there's  no  way  I  can  repay  you.     .     .     ." 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  repaid,"  he  contended 
stoutly. 

She  clasped  her  hands  and  let  them  fall  gently  in 
her  lap.     "  I've  not  a  farthing  in  the  world ! 
I  never  dreamed.      .     .     .     I'm  so  sorry,  Mr.  Kirk- 
wood  —  terribly,  terribly  sorry !     .     .     .     But  what 
can  we  do  ?     I  can't  consent  to  be  a  burden  — " 

"  But    you're    not !     You're   the    one    thing    that 
."     He  swerved  sharply,  at  an  abrupt  tangent. 
"  There's  one  thing  we  can  do,  of  course." 

She  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  Craven  Street  is  just  round  the  corner." 

*'  Yes?  " —  wonderingly. 

"  I  mean  we  must  go  to  Mrs.  Hallam's  house,  first 
off.  .  .  .  It's  too  late  now, —  after  five,  else  we 
could  deposit  the  jewels  in  some  bank.  Since  —  since 
they  are  no  longer  yours,  the  only  thing,  and  the 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  367 

proper  thing  to  do  is  to  place  them  in  safety  or  in 
the  hands  of  their  owner.  If  you  take  them  directly 
to  young  Hallam,  your  hands  will  be  clear.  .  .  . 
And  —  I  never  did  such  a  thing  in  my  life,  Miss  Cal- 
endar; but  if  he's  got  a  spark  of  gratitude  in  his 
make-up,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  —  er  —  to  borrow  a 
pound  or  so  of  him." 

"  Do  you  think  so?  "     She  shook  her  head  in  doubt, 

"  I   don't  know ;   I  know   so  little  of  such   things. 

You  are  right;  we  must  take  him  the  jewels, 

but     .     .     ."     Her  voice  trailed  off  into  a  sigh  of 

profound  perturbation. 

He  dared  not  meet  her  look. 

Beneath  his  wandering  gaze  a  County  Council  steam- 
boat darted  swiftly  down-stream  from  Charing  Cross 
pier,  in  the  shadow  of  the  railway  bridge.  It  seemed 
curious  to  reflect  that  from  that  very  floating  pier 
he  had  started  first  upon  his  quest  of  the  girl  beside 
him,  only  —  he  had  to  count  —  three  nights  ago! 
Three  days  and  three  nights !  Altogether  incredible 
seemed  the  transformation  they  had  wrought  in  the 
complexion  of  the  world.  Yet  nothing  material  was 
changed.  .  .  .  He  lifted  his  eyes. 

Beyond  the  river  rose  the  Embankment,  crawling 
with  traffic,  backed  by  the  green  of  the  gardens  and 
the  shimmering  walls  of  glass  and  stone  of  the  great 
hotels,  their  windows  glowing  weirdly  golden  in  the 
late  sunlight.  A  little  down-stream  Cleopatra's 


368  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Needle  rose,  sadly  the  worse  for  London  smoke, 
flanked  by  its  couchant  sphinxes,  wearing  a  nimbus  of 
circling,  sweeping,  swooping,  wheeling  gulls.  Far- 
ther down,  from  the  foot  of  that  magnificent  pile, 
Somerset  House,  Waterloo  Bridge  sprang  overstream 
in  its  graceful  arch.  .  .  .  All  as  of  yesterday ; 
yet  all  changed.  Why?  Because  a  woman  had  en- 
tered into  his  life;  because  he  had  learned  the  lesson 
of  love  and  had  looked  into  the  bright  face  of  Ro- 
mance. 

With  a  jar  the  train  started  and  began  to  move 
more  swiftly. 

Kirkwood  lifted  the  traveling  bag  to  his  knees. 

"  Don't  forget,"  he  said  with  some  difficulty, 
"  you're  to  stick  by  me,  whatever  happens.  You 
mustn't  desert  me." 

"  You  Imow,"  the  girl  reproved  him. 

"  I  know ;  but  there  must  be  no  misunderstanding. 
.  .  .  Don't  worry;  we'll  win  out  yet.  I've  a 
plan." 

Splendide  mendaxl  He  had  not  the  glimmering 
of  a  plan. 

The  engine  panting,  the  train  drew  in  beneath  the 
vast  sounding  dome  of  the  station,  to  an  accompani- 
ment of  dull  thunderings;  and  stopped  finally. 

Kirkwood  got  out,  not  without  a  qualm  of  regret 
at  leaving  the  compartment;  therein,  at  least,  they 
had  some  title  to  consideration,  by  virtue  of  their 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  369 

tickets ;  now  they  were  utterly  vagabondish,  penniless 
adventurers. 

The  girl  joined  him.  Slowly,  elbow  to  elbow,  the 
treasure  bag  between  them,  they  made  their  way 
down  toward  the  gates,  atoms  in  a  tide-rip  of  hu- 
manity,—  two  streams  of  passengers  meeting  on  the 
narrow  strip  of  platform,  the  one  making  for  the 
streets,  the  other  for  the  suburbs. 

Hurried  and  jostled,  the  girl  clinging  tightly  to  his 
arm  lest  they  be  separated  in  the  crush,  they  came 
to  the  ticket-wicket;  beyond  the  barrier  surged  a  sea 
of  hats  —  shining  "  toppers,"  dignified  and  upstand- 
ing, the  outward  and  visible  manifestation  of  the 
sturdy,  stodgy  British  spirit  of  respectability ; 
"  bowlers  "  round  and  sleek  and  humble ;  shapeless 
caps  with  cloth  visors,  manufactured  of  outrageous 
plaids ;  flower-like  miracles  of  millinery  from  Bond 
Street;  strangely  plumed  monstrosities  from  Petti- 
coat Lane  and  Mile  End  Road.  Beneath  any  one  of 
these  might  lurk  the  maleficent  brain,  the  spying  eye* 
of  Calendar  or  one  of  his  creatures ;  beneath  all  of 
them  that  he  encountered,  Kirkwood  peered  in  fear- 
ful inquiry. 

Yet,  when  they  had  passed  unhindered  the  ordeal 
of  the  wickets,  had  run  the  gantlet  of  those  thousand 
eyes  without  lighting  in  any  pair  a  spark  of  recog- 
nition, he  began  to  bear  himself  with  more  assurance, 
to  be  sensible  to  a  grateful  glow  of  hope.  Perhaps 


370  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Hobbs'  telegram  had  not  reached  its  destination,  for 
unquestionably  the  mate  would  have  wired  his  chief; 
perhaps  some  accident  had  befallen  the  conspirators ; 
perhaps  the  police  had  apprehended  them. 
No  matter  how,  one  hoped  against  hope  that  they  had 
been  thrown  off  the  trail. 

And  indeed  it  seemed  as  if  they  must  have  been 
misguided  in  some  providential  manner.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  would  be  the  crassest  of  indiscretions  to 
linger  about  the  place  an  instant  longer  than  abso- 
lutely necessary. 

Outside  the  building,  however,  they  paused  per- 
force, undergoing  the  cross-fire  of  the  congregated 
cabbies.  It  being  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever  felt 
called  upon  to  leave  the  station  afoot,  Kirkwood  cast 
about  irresolutely,  seeking  the  sidewalk  leading  to 
the  Strand. 

Abruptly  he  caught  the  girl  by  the  arm  and  un- 
ceremoniously hurried  her  toward  a  waiting  han- 
som. 

"  Quick !  "  he  begged  her.  "  Jump  right  in  —  not 
an  instant  to  spare  — " 

She  nodded  brightly,  lips  firm  with  courage,  eyes 
shining. 

"  My  father?  " 

"  Yes."  Kirkwood  glanced  back  over  his  shoul- 
der. "  He  hasn't  seen  us  yet.  They've  just  driven 
up.  Stryker's  with  him.  They're  getting  down." 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  371 

And  to  himself,  "  Oh,  the  devil ! "  cried  the  panic- 
stricken  young  man. 

He  drew  back  to  let  the  girl  precede  him  into  the 
cab ;  at  the  same  time  he  kept  an  eye  on  Calendar, 
whose  conveyance  stood  half  the  length  of  the  station- 
front  away. 

The  fat  adventurer  had  finished  paying  off  the 
driver,  standing  on  the  deck  of  the  hansom.  Stryker 
was  already  out,  towering  above  the  mass  of  people, 
and  glaring  about  him  with  his  hawk-keen  vision. 
Calendar  had  started  to  alight,  his  foot  was  leaving 
the  step  when  Stryker's  glance  singled  out  their 
quarry.  Instantly  he  turned  and  spoke  to  his  con- 
federate. Calendar  wheeled  like  a  flash,  peering 
eagerly  in  the  direction  indicated  by  the  captain's 
index  finger,  then,  snapping  instructions  to  his  driver, 
threw  himself  heavily  back  on  the  seat.  Stryker, 
awkward  on  his  land-legs,  stumbled  and  fell  in  an 
ill-calculated  attempt  to  hoist  himself  hastily  back 
into  the  vehicle. 

To  the  delay  thus  occasioned  alone  Kirkwood  and 
Dorothy  owed  a  respite  of  freedom.  Their  hansom 
was  already  swinging  down  toward  the  great  gates 
of  the  yard,  the  American  standing  to  make  the 
driver  comprehend  the  necessity  for  using  the  ut- 
most speed  in  reaching  the  Craven  Street  address. 
The  man  proved  both  intelligent  and  obliging;  Kirk- 
wood  had  barely  time  to  drop  down  beside  the  girl, 


372  THE  BLACK  BAG 

ere  the  cab  was  swinging  out  into  the  Strand,  to  the 
peril  of  the  toes  belonging  to  a  number  of  righteously 
indignant  pedestrians. 

"  Good  boy ! "  commented  Kirkwood  cheerfully. 
"  That's  the  greatest  comfort  of  all  London,  the  sur- 
prising intellectual  strength  the  average  cabby  dis- 
plays when  you  promise  him  a  tip.  .  .  .  Great 
Heavens ! "  he  cried,  reading  the  girl's  dismayed  ex- 
pression. "  A  tip  !  I  never  thought  — !  "  His  face 
lengthened  dismally,  his  eyebrows  working  awry. 
"  Now  we  are  in  for  it ! " 

Dorothy  said  nothing. 

He  turned  in  the  seat,  twisting  his  neck  to  peep 
through  the  small  rear  window.  "  I  don't  see  their 
cab,"  he  announced.  "  But  of  course  they're  after 
us.  However,  Craven  Street's  just  round  the  cor- 
ner; if  we  get  there  first,  I  don't  fancy  Freddie 
Hallam  will  have  a  cordial  reception  for  our  pursuers. 
They  must  've  been  on  watch  at  Cannon  Street,  and 
finding  we  were  not  coming  in  that  way  —  of  course 
they  were  expecting  us  because  of  Hobbs'  wire  — 
they  took  cab  for  Charing  Cross.  Lucky  for  us. 
.  .  .  Or  is  it  lucky?  "  he  added  doubtfully,  to 
himself. 

The  hansom  whipped  round  the  corner  into  Craven 
Street.  Kirkwood  sprang  up,  grasping  the  treasure 
bag,  ready  to  jump  the  instant  they  pulled  in  toward 
Mrs.  Hallam's  dwelling.  But  as  they  drew  near  upon 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS          373 

the  address  he  drew  back  with  an  exclamation  of 
amazement. 

The  house  was  closed,  showing  a  blank  face  to  the 
street  —  blinds  drawn  close  down  in  the  windows, 
area  gate  padlocked,  an  estate-agent's  board  project- 
ing from  above  the  doorway,  advertising  the  prop- 
erty "  To  be  let,  furnished." 

Kirkwood  looked  back,  craning  his  neck  round  the 
side  of  the  cab.  At  the  moment  another  hansom 
was  breaking  through  the  rank  of  humanity  on  the 
Strand  crossing.  He  saw  one  or  two  figures  leap 
desperately  from  beneath  the  horse's  hoofs.  Then 
the  cab  shot  out  swiftly  down  the  street. 

The  American  stood  up  again,  catching  the  cabby's 
eye. 

"  Drive  on !  "  he  cried  excitedly.  "  Don't  stop  — 
drive  as  fast  as  you  dare ! " 

"  Were  to,  sir?  " 

"'See  that  cab  behind?  Don't  let  it  catch  us  — 
shake  it  off,  lose  it  somehow,  but  for  the  love  of  Heaven 
don't  let  it  catch  us!  I'll  make  it  worth  your  while. 
Do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ! "  The  driver  looked  briefly  over  his 
shoulder  and  lifted  his  whip.  "  Don't  worry,  sir," 
he  cried,  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  game  with 
gratifying  zest.  "  Shan't  let  'em  overhaul  you,  sir. 
Mind  your  'ead !  " 

And  as  Kirkwood  ducked,  the  whip-lash  shot  out 


374  THE  BLACK  BAG 

over  the  roof  with  a  crack  like  the  report  of  a  pistol. 
Startled,  the  horse  leaped  indignantly  forward. 
Momentarily  the  cab  seemed  to  leave  the  ground, 
then  settled  down  to  a  pace  that  carried  them  round 
the  Avenue  Theatre  and  across  Northumberland 
Avenue  into  Whitehall  Place  apparently  on  a  single 
wheel. 

A  glance  behind  showed  Kirkwood  that  already 
they  had  gained,  the  pursuing  hansom  having  lost 
ground  through  greater  caution  in  crossing  the  main- 
traveled  thoroughfare. 

"  Good  little  horse !  "  he  applauded. 

A  moment  later  he  was  indorsing  without  reserve 
the  generalship  of  their  cabby ;  the  quick  westward 
turn  that  took  them  into  Whitehall,  over  across  from 
the  Horse  Guards,  likewise  placed  them  in  a  pocket 
of  traffic;  a  practically  impregnable  press  of  vehicles 
closed  in  behind  them  ere  Calendar's  conveyance 
could  follow  out  of  the  side  street. 

That  the  same  conditions,  but  slightly  modified, 
hemmed  them  in  ahead,  went  for  nothing  in  Kirk- 
wood's  estimation. 

"  Good  driver !  "  he  approved  heartily.  "  He's  got 
a  head  on  his  shoulders !  " 

The  girl  found  her  voice.  "  How,"  she  demanded 
in  a  breath,  face  blank  with  consternation,  "  how  did 
you  dare  ?  " 

"Dare?"  he  echoed  exultantly;  and  in  his  veins 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  375 

excitement  was  running  like  liquid  fire.  "  What 
wouldn't  I  dare  for  you,  Dorothy  ?  " 

"  What  have  you  not?  "  she  amended  softly,  add- 
ing with  a  shade  of  timidity :  "  Philip  .  .  ." 

The  long  lashes  swept  up  from  her  cheeks,  like 
clouds  revealing  stars,  unmasking  eyes  radiant  and 
brave  to  meet  his  own ;  then  they  fell,  even  as  her  lips 
drooped  with  disappointment.  And  she  sighed. 
.  .  .  For  he  was  not  looking.  Man-like,  hot  with 
the  ardor  of  the  chase,  he  was  deaf  and  blind  to  all 
else. 

She  saw  that  he  had  not  even  heard.  Twice  within 
the  day  she  had  forgotten  herself,  had  overstepped 
the  rigid  bounds  of  her  breeding  in  using  his  Chris- 
tian name.  And  twice  he  had  been  oblivious  to  that 
token  of  their  maturing  understanding.  So  she 
sighed,  and  sighing,  smiled  again;  resting  an  elbow 
on  the  window-sill  and  flattening  one  small  gloved 
hand  against  the  frame  for  a  brace  against  the  jounc- 
ing of  the  hansom.  It  swept  on  with  unabated  speed, 
up-stream  beside  the  tawny  reaches  of  the  river ;  and 
for  a  time  there  was  no  speech  between  them,  the 
while  the  girl  lost  consciousness  of  self  and  her  most 
imminent  peril,  surrendering  her  being  to  the  linger- 
ing sweetness  of  her  long,  dear  thoughts. 

"  I've  got  a  scheme ! "  Kirkwood  declared  so  ex- 
plosively that  she  caught  her  breath  with  the  surprise 
of  it.  "  There's  the  Pless ;  they  know  me  there,  and 


376  THE  BLACK  BAG 

my  credit's  good.  When  we  shake  them  off,  we  can 
have  the  cabby  take  us  to  the  hotel.  I'll  register  and 
borrow  from  the  management  enough  to  pay  our  way 
to  Chiltern  and  the  tolls  for  a  cable  to  New  York. 
I've  a  friend  or  two  over  home  who  wouldn't  let  me 
want  for  a  few  miserable  pounds.  ...  So  you 
see,"  he  explained  boyishly,  "  we're  at  the  end  of  our 
troubles  already ! " 

She  said  something  inaudible,  holding  her  face 
averted.  He  bent  nearer  to  her,  wondering.  "  I 
didn't  understand,"  he  suggested. 

Still  looking  from  him,  "  I  said  you  were  very  good 
to  me,"  she  said  in  a  quavering  whisper. 

"  Dorothy !  "  Without  his  knowledge  or  intention 
before  the  fact,  as  instinctively  as  he  made  use  of 
her  given  name,  intimately,  his  strong  fingers  dropped 
and  closed  upon  the  little  hand  that  lay  beside  him. 
"  What  is  the  matter,  dear?  "  He  leaned  still  far- 
ther forward  to  peer  into  her  face,  till  glance  met 
glance  in  the  ending  and  his  racing  pulses  tightened 
with  sheer  delight  of  the  humid  happiness  in  her  glis- 
tening eyes.  "  Dorothy,  child,  don't  worry  so.  No 
harm  shall  come  to  you.  It's  all  working  out  —  all 
working  out  right.  Only  have  a  little  faith  in  me, 
and  I'll  make  everything  work  out  right,  Dorothy." 

Gently  she  freed  her  fingers.  "  I  wasn't,"  she  told 
him  in  a  voice  that  quivered  between  laughter  and 
tears,  "  I  wasn't  worrying.  I  was  .  .  .  You 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  377 

woiildn't  understand.     Don't  be  afraid  I  shall  break 
down  or  —  or  anything." 

"  I  shan't,"  he  reassured  her ;  "  I  know  you're  not 
that  sort.  Besides,  you'd  have  no  excuse.  We're 
moving  along  famously.  That  cabby  knows  his  busi- 
ness." 

In  fact  that  gentleman  was  minute  by  minute  dem- 
onstrating his  peculiar  fitness  for  the  task  he  had  so 
cheerfully  undertaken.  The  superior  horsemanship 
of  the  London  hackney  cabman  needs  no  exploitation, 
and  he  in  whose  hands  rested  the  fate  of  the  Calendar 
treasure  was  peer  of  his  compeers.  He  was  instant 
to  advantage  himself  of  every  opening  to  forward 
his  pliant  craft,  quick  to  foresee  the  fortunes  of  the 
Way  and  govern  himself  accordingly. 

Estimating  with  practised  eye  the  precise  moment 
when  the  police  supervisor  of  traffic  at  the  junction 
of  Parliament  and  Bridge  Streets,  would  see  fit  to 
declare  a  temporary  blockade,  he  so  managed  that 
his  was  the  last  vehicle  to  pass  ere  the  official  wand, 
to  ignore  which  involves  a  forfeited  license,  was  lifted ; 
and  indeed,  so  close  was  his  calculation  that  he  es- 
caped only  with  a  scowl  and  word  of  warning  from 
the  bobby.  A  matter  of  no  importance  whatever, 
since  his  end  was  gained  and  the  pursuing  cab  had 
been  shut  off  by  the  blockade. 

In  Calendar's  driver,  however,  he  had  an  adversary 
of  abilities  by  no  means  to  be  despised.  Precisely 


378  THE  BLACK  BAG 

how  the  man  contrived  it,  is  a  question;  that  he 
made  a  detour  by  way  of  Derby  Street  is  not  im- 
probable, unpleasant  as  it  may  have  been  for  Stryker 
and  Calendar  to  find  themselves  in  such  close  prox- 
imity to  "  the  Yard."  At  all  events,  he  evaded  the 
block,  and  hardly  had  the  chase  swung  across  Bridge 
Street,  than  the  pursuer  was  nimbly  clattering  in  its 
wake. 

Past  the  Houses  of  Parliament,  through  Old  Palace 
Yard,  with  the  Abbey  on  their  left,  they  swung  away} 
into  Abingdon  Street,  whence  suddenly  they  dived 
into  the  maze  of  backways,  great  and  mean,  which 
lies  to  the  south  of  Victoria.  Doubling  and  twisting, 
now  this  way,  now  that,  the  driver  tooled  them 
through  the  intricate  heart  of  this  labyrinth,  leading 
the  pursuers  a  dance  that  Kirkwood  thought  calcu- 
lated to  dishearten  and  shake  off  the  pursuit  in  the 
first  five  minutes.  Yet  always,  peering  back  through 
the  little  peephole,  he  saw  Calendar's  cab  pelting  dog- 
gedly in  their  rear  —  a  hundred  yards  behind,  no 
more,  no  less,  hanging  on  with  indomitable  grit  and 
determination. 

By  degrees  they  drew  westwards,  threading  Pim- 
lico,  into  Chelsea  —  once  dashing  briefly  down  the 
Grosvenor  Road,  the  Thames  a  tawny  flood  beyond 
the  river  wall. 

Children  cheered  them  on,  and  policemen  turned 
to  stare,  doubting  whether  they  should  interfere. 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  379 

Minutes  rolled  into  tens,  measuring  out  an  hour;  and 
still  they  hammered  on,  hunted  and  hunters,  playing 
their  game  of  hare-and-hounds  through  the  highways 
and  byways  of  those  staid  and  aged  quarters. 

In  the  leading  cab  there  were  few  words  spoken. 
Kirkwood  and  Dorothy  alike  sat  spellbound  with  the 
fascination  of  the  game ;  if  it  is  conceivable  that  the 
fox  enjoys  his  part  in  the  day's  sport,  then  they  were 
enjoying  themselves.  Now  one  spoke,  now  another 
—  chiefly  in  the  clipped  phraseology  of  excitement. 
As  — 

"  We're  gaining?  " 

"Yes  —  think   so." 

Or,  "  We'll  tire  them  out?  " 

"  Sure-ly." 

"They  can't  catch  us,  can  they,  Philip?'* 

"  Never  in  the  world." 

But  he  spoke  with  a  confidence  that  he  himself 
did  not  feel,  for  hope  as  he  would  he  could  never  see 
that  the  distance  between  the  two  had  been  materially 
lessened  or  increased.  Their  horses  seemed  most 
evenly  matched. 

The  sun  was  very  low  behind  the  houses  of  the 
Surrey  Side  when  Kirkwood  became  aware  that  their 
horse  was  flagging,  though  (as  comparison  deter- 
mined) no  more  so  than  the  one  behind. 

In  grave  concern  the  young  man  raised  his  hand, 
thrusting  open  the  trap  in  the  roof.  Immediately  the 


380  THE  BLACK  BAG 

square  of  darkling  sky  was  eclipsed  by  the  cabby's 
face. 

"  Yessir?" 

"  You  had  better  drive  as  directly  as  you  can  to 
the  Hotel  Pless,"  Kirkwood  called  up.  "  I'm  afraid 
it's  no  use  pushing  your  horse  like  this." 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,  sir.  'E's  a  good  'oss,  'e  is,  but 
'e  carn't  keep  goin'  for  hever,  you  know,  sir." 

"  I  know.  You've  done  very  well ;  you've  done 
your  best." 

"  Very  good,  sir.  The  Pless,  you  said,  sir? 
Right." 

The  trap  closed. 

Two  blocks  farther,  and  their  pace  had  so  sensibly 
moderated  that  Kirkwood  was  genuinely  alarmed. 
The  pursuing  cabby  was  lashing  his  animal  without 
mercy,  while,  "  It  aren't  no  use  my  w'ippin'  'im,  sir," 
dropped  through  the  trap.  "  'E's  doing  orl  'e  can." 

"  I  understand." 

Despondent  recklessness  tightened  Kirkwood's  lips 
and  kindled  an  unpleasant  light  in  his  eyes.  He 
touched  his  side  pocket ;  Calendar's  revolver  was  still 
there.  .  .  .  Dorothy  should  win  away  clear,  if 
—  if  he  swung  for  it. 

He  bent  forward  with  the  traveling  bag  in  his 
hands. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?  "  The  girl's  voice 
was  very  tremulous. 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  381 

"  Stand  a  chance,  take  a  losing  hazard.  Can  you 
run  ?  You're  not  too  tired  ?  " 

"  I  can  run  —  perhaps  not  far  —  a  little  way,  at 
least." 

"  And  will  you  do  as  I  say  ?  " 

Her  eyes  met  his,  unwavering,  bespeaking  her  im- 
plicit faith. 

"  Promise ! " 

"  I  promise." 

"  We'll  have  to  drop  off  in  a  minute.  The  horse 
won't  last.  .  .  .  They're  in  the  same  box.  Well, 
I  undertake  to  stand  'em  off  for  a  bit ;  you  take  the 
bag  and  run  for  it.  Just  as  soon  as  I  can  convince 
them,  I'll  follow,  but  if  there's  any  delay,  you  call 
the  first  cab  you  see  and  drive  to  the  Pless.  I'll  join 
you  there." 

He  stood  up,  surveying  the  neighborhood.  Behind 
him  the  girl  lifted  her  voice  in  protest. 

"No,  Philip,  no!" 

"  You've  promised,"  he  said  sternly,  eyes  ranging 
the  street. 

"  I  don't  care ;  I  won't  leave  you." 

He  shook  his  head  in  silent  contradiction,  frown- 
ing; but  not  frowning  because  of  the  girl's  mutiny. 
He  was  a  little  puzzled  by  a  vague  impression,  and 
was  striving  to  pin  it  down  for  recognition ;  but  was 
so  thoroughly  bemused  with  fatigue  and  despair  that 
only  with  great  difficulty  could  he  force  his  faculties 


382  THE  BLACK  BAG 

to  logical  reasoning,  his  memory  to  respond  to  his 
call  upon  it. 

The  hansom  was  traversing  a  street  in  Old  Bromp- 
ton  —  a  quaint,  prim  by-way  lined  with  dwellings 
singularly  Old-Worldish,  even  for  London.  He 
seemed  to  know  it  subjectively,  to  have  retained  a 
memory  of  it  from  another  existence:  as  the  stage 
setting  of  a  vivid  dream,  all  forgotten,  will  some- 
times recur  with  peculiar  and  exasperating  intensity, 
in  broad  daylight.  The  houses,  with  their  sloping, 
red-tiled  roofs,  unexpected  gables,  spontaneous  dor- 
mer windows,  glass  panes  set  in  leaded  frames,  red 
brick  facades  trimmed  with  green  shutters  and  door- 
steps of  white  stone,  each  sitting  back,  sedate  and 
self-sufficient,  in  its  trim  dooryard  fenced  off  from 
the  public  thoroughfare:  all  wore  an  aspect  haunt- 
ingly  familiar,  and  yet  strange. 

A  corner  sign,  remarked  in  passing,  had  named 
the  spot  "  Aspen  Villas  " ;  though  he  felt  he  knew 
the  sound  of  those  syllables  as  well  as  he  did  the  name 
of  the  Pless,  strive  as  he  might  he  failed  to  make  them 
convey  anything  tangible  to  his  intelligence.  When 
had  he  heard  of  it?  At  what  time  had  his  errant 
•footsteps  taken  him  through  this  curious  survival  of 
Eighteenth  Century  London? 

Not  that  it  mattered  when.  It  could  have  no  possi- 
ble bearing  on  the  emergency.  He  really  gave  it 
little  thought;  the  mental  processes  recounted  were 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  383 

mostly  subconscious,  if  none  the  less  real.  His  ob- 
jective attention  was  wholly  preoccupied  with  the 
knowledge  that  Calendar's  cab  was  drawing  perilously 
near.  And  he  was  debating  whether  or  not  they 
should  alight  at  once  and  try  to  make  a  better  pace 
afoot,  when  the  decision  was  taken  wholly  out  of  his 
hands. 

Blindly  staggering  on,  wilted  with  weariness,  the 
horse  stumbled  in  the  shafts  and  plunged  forward  on 
its  knees.  Quick  as  the  driver  was  to  pull  it  up,  with 
a  cruel  jerk  of  the  bits,  Kirkwood  was  caught  unpre- 
pared ;  lurching  against  the  dashboard,  he  lost  his 
footing,  grasped  frantically  at  the  unstable  air,  and 
went  over,  bringing  up  in  a  sitting  position  in  the 
gutter,  with  a  solid  shock  that  jarred  his  very  teeth. 

For  a  moment  dazed  he  sat  there  blinking;  by  the 
time  he  got  to  his  feet,  the  girl  stood  beside  him,  ques- 
tioning him  with  keen  solicitude. 

"  No,"  he  gasped ;  "  not  hurt  —  only  surprised. 
Wait.  .  .  ." 

Their  cab  had  come  to  a  complete  standstill ;  Cal- 
endar's was  no  more  than  twenty  yards  behind,  and 
as  Kirkwood  caught  sight  of  him  the  fat  adventurer 
was  in  the  act  of  lifting  himself  ponderously  out  of 
the  seat. 

Incontinently  the  young  man  turned  to  the  giri 
and  forced  the  traveling-bag  into  her  hands. 

"  Run  for  it ! "  he  begged  her.     "  Don't  stop  to 


384  THE  BLACK  BAG 

argue.     You  promised  —  run!     I'll  come.     .     .     ." 

"  Philip !  "  she  pleaded. 

"  Dorothy !  "  he  cried  in  torment. 

Perhaps  it  was  his  unquestionable  distress  that 
weakened  her.  Suddenly  she  yielded  —  with  whatever 
reason.  He  was  only  hazily  aware  of  the  swish 
of  her  skirts  behind  him ;  he  had  no  time  to  look  round 
and  see  that  she  got  away  safely.  He  had  only  eyes 
and  thoughts  for  Calendar  and  Stryker. 

They  were  both  afoot,  now,  and  running  toward 
him,  the  one  as  awkward  as  the  other,  but  neither 
yielding  a  jot  of  their  malignant  purpose.  He  held 
the  picture  of  it  oddly  graphic  in  his  memory  for 
many  a  day  thereafter:  Calendar  making  directly 
for  him,  his  heavy-featured  face  a  dull  red  with  the 
exertion,  his  fat  head  dropped  forward  as  if  too  heavy 
for  his  neck  of  a  bull,  his  small  eyes  bright  with 
anger;  Stryker  shying  off  at  a  discreet  angle,  evi- 
dently with  the  intention  of  devoting  himself  to  the 
capture  of  the  girl;  the  two  cabs  with  their  dejected 
screws,  at  rest  in  the  middle  of  the  quiet,  twilit  street. 
He  seemed  even  to  see  himself,  standing  stockily  pre- 
pared, hands  in  his  coat  pockets,  his  own  head 
inclined  with  a  suggestion  of  pugnacity. 

To  this  mental  photograph  another  succeeds,  of 
the  same  scene  an  instant  later;  all  as  it  had  been 
before,  their  relative  positions  unchanged,  save  that 
Stryker  and  Calendar  had  come  to  a  dead  stop,  and 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  385 

that  Kirkwood's  right  arm  was  lifted  and  extended, 
pointing  at  the  captain, 

So  forgetful  of  self  was  he,  that  it  required  a 
moment's  thought  to  convince  him  that  he  was  really 
responsible  for  the  abrupt  transformation.  Incredu- 
lously he  realized  that  he  had  drawn  Calendar's  re- 
volver and  pulled  Stryker  up  short,  in  mid-stride,  by 
the  mute  menace  of  it,  as  much  as  by  his  hoarse  cry 
of  warning: 

"  Stryker  —  not  another  foot  — " 

With  this  there  chimed  in  Dorothy's  voice,  ringing 
bell-clear  from  a  little  distance: 

"  Philip ! " 

Like  a  flash  he  wheeled,  to  add  yet  another  picture 
to  his  mental  gallery. 

Perhaps  two-score  feet  up  the  sidewalk  a  gate  stood 
open ;  just  outside  it  a  man  of  tall  and  slender  figure, 
rigged  out  in  a  bizarre  costume  consisting  mainly  of 
a  flowered  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  was  waiting 
in  an  attitude  of  singular  impassivity;  within  it, 
pausing  with  a  foot  lifted  to  the  doorstep,  bag  in 
hand,  her  head  turned  as  she  looked  back,  was  Dor- 
othy. 

As  he  comprehended  these  essential  details  of  the 
composition,  the  man  in  the  flowered  dressing-gown 
raised  a  hand,  beckoning  to  him  in  a  manner  as  im- 
perative as  his  accompanying  words. 

"  Kirkwood !  "  he  saluted  the  young  man  in  a  clear 


386  THE  BLACK  BAG 

and  vibrant  voice,  "put  up  that  revolver  and  stop 
this  foolishness."  And,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  to- 
wards the  doorway,  in  which  Dorothy  now  waited, 
hesitant :  "  Come,  sir  —  quickly !  " 

Kirkwood  choked  on  a  laugh  that  was  half  a  sob. 
"  Brentwick !  "  he  cried,  restoring  the  weapon  to  his 
pocket  and  running  toward  his  friend.  "  Of  all 
happy  accidents ! " 

"  You  may  call  it  that,"  retorted  the  elder  man 
with  a  fleeting  smile  as  Kirkwood  slipped  inside  the 
dooryard.  "  Come,"  he  said ;  "  let's  get  into  the 
house." 

"  But  you  said  —  I  thought  you  went  to  Munich," 
stammered  Kirkwood ;  and  so  thoroughly  impregnated 
was  his  mind  with  this  understanding  that  it  was 
hard  for  him  to  adjust  his  perceptions  to  the  truth. 

"  I  was  detained  —  by  business,"  responded  Brent- 
wick  briefty.  His  gaze,  weary  and  wistful  behind  his 
glasses,  rested  on  the  face  of  the  girl  on  the  threshold 
of  his  home ;  and  the  faint,  sensitive  flush  of  her  face 
deepened.  He  stopped  and  honored  her  with  a  bow 
that,  for  all  his  fantastical  attire,  would  have  graced 
a  beau  of  an  earlier  decade.  "  Will  you  be  pleased 
to  enter?  "  he  suggested  punctiliously.  "  My  house, 
such  as  it  is,  is  quite  at  your  disposal.  And,"  he 
added,  with  a  glance  over  his  shoulder,  "  I  fancy  that 
a  word  or  two  may  presently  be  passed  which  you 
would  hardly  care  to  hear." 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  387 

Dorothy's  hesitation  was  but  transitory ;  Kirkwood 
was  reassuring  her  with  a  smile  more  like  his  wonted 
boyish  grin  than  anything  he  had  succeeded  in  con- 
juring up  throughout  the  day.  Her  own  smile 
answered  it,  and  with  a  murmured  word  of  gratitude 
and  a  little,  half  timid,  half  distant  bow  for  Brent- 
wick,  she  passed  on  into  the  hallway. 

Kirkwood  lingered  with  his  friend  upon  the  door- 
stoop.  Calendar,  recovered  from  his  temporary  con- 
sternation, was  already  at  the  gate,  bending  over  it, 
fat  fingers  fumbling  with  the  latch,  his  round  red 
face,  lifted  to  the  house,  darkly  working  with  chagrin. 

From  his  threshold,  watching  him  with  a  slight 
contraction  of  the  eyes,  Brentwick  hailed  him  in  tones 
of  cloying  courtesy. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me,  sir?  " 

The  fat  adventurer  faltered  just  within  the  gate- 
way ;  then,  with  a  truculent  swagger,  "  I  want  my 
daughter,"  he  declared  vociferously. 

Brentwick  peered  mildly  over  his  glasses,  first  at 
Calendar,  then  at  Kirkwood.  His  glance  lingered  a 
moment  on  the  young  man's  honest  eyes,  and  swung 
back  to  Calendar. 

"  My  good  man,"  he  said  with  sublime  tolerance, 
"  will  you  be  pleased  to  take  yourself  off  —  to  the 
devil  if  you  like?  Or  shall  I  take  the  trouble  to 
interest  the  police  ?  " 

He   removed   one   fine    and   fragile   hand   from   a 


388  THE  BLACK  BAG 

pocket  of  the  flowered  dressing-gown,  long  enough  to 
jerk  it  significantly  toward  the  nearer  street-corner. 

Thunderstruck,  Calendar  glanced  hastily  in  the  in- 
dicated direction.  A  blue-coated  bobby  was  to  be 
seen  approaching  with  measured  stride,  diffusing  up- 
on the  still  evening  air  an  impression  of  ineffably 
capable  self -contentment. 

Calendar's  fleshy  lips  parted  and  closed  without  a 
sound.  They  quivered.  Beneath  them  quivered  his 
assortment  of  graduated  chins.  His  heavy  and 
pendulous  cheeks  quivered,  slowly  empurpling  with 
the  dark  tide  of  his  apoplectic  wrath.  The  close- 
clipped  thatch  of  his  iron  gray  mustache,  even,  seemed 
to  bristle  like  hairs  upon  the  neck  of  a  maddened  dog. 
Beneath  him  his  fat  legs  trembled,  and  indeed  his 
whole  huge  carcass  shook  visibly,  in  the  stress  of  his 
restrained  wrath. 

Suddenly,  overwhelmed,  he  banged  the  gate  behind 
him  and  waddled  off  to  join  the  captain ;  who  already, 
with  praiseworthy  native  prudence,  had  fallen  back 
upon  their  cab. 

From  his  coign  of  strategic  advantage,  the  com- 
fortable elevation  of  his  box,  Kirkwood's  cabby,  whose 
huge  enjoyment  of  the  adventurers'  discomfiture  had 
throughout  been  noisily  demonstrative,  entreated  Cal- 
endar with  lifted  forefinger,  bland  affability,  and  ex- 
pressions of  heartfelt  sympathy. 

"  Kebsir?     'Ave  a  kebsir,  do!     Try  a  ride  be'ind 


ROGUES  AND  VAGABONDS  389 

a  real  'orse,  sir ;  don't  you  go  on  wastin'  time  on  'im." 
A  jerk  of  a  derisive  thumb  singled  out  the  other  cab- 
man. "  'E  aren't  pl'yin'  you  fair,  sir ;  I  knows  'im, 
• — 'e's  a  hartful  g'y  deceiver,  'e  is.  Look  at  'is  'orse, 
• —  w'ich  it  aren't ;  it's  a  snyle,  that's  w'at  it  is. 
Tyke  a  father's  hadvice,  sir,  and  next  time 
yer  fairest  darter  runs  awye  with  the  dook  in  disguise, 
chyse  'em  in  a  real  kebsir,  not  a  cheap  imita- 
shin.  .  .  .  Kebsir?  .  .  .  Garn,  you  'ard- 
'arted— " 

Here  he  swooped  upwards  in  a  dizzy  flight  of  vitu- 
peration best  unrecorded.  Calendar,  beyond  an  ab- 
sent-minded flirt  of  one  hand  by  his  ear,  as  who  should 
shoo  away  a  buzzing  insect,  ignored  him  utterly. 

Sullenly  extracting  money  from  his  pocket,  he 
paid  off  his  driver,  and  in  company  with  Stryker, 
trudged  in  morose  silence  down  the  street. 

Brentwick  touched  Kirkwood's  arm  and  drew  him 
into  the  house. 


XVIII 

ADVENTURERS'    LUCK 

As  the  door  closed,  Kirkwood  swung  impulsively  to 
Brentwick,  with  the  brief,  uneven  laugh  of  fine-drawn 
nerves. 

"  Good  God,  sir ! "  he  cried.  "  You  don't 
know  — " 

"  I  can  surmise,"  interrupted  the  elder  man 
shrewdly. 

"  You  turned  up  in  the  nick  of  time,  for  all  the 
world  like  — " 

"  Harlequin  popping  through  a  stage  trap  ?  " 

"  No !  —  an  incarnation  of  the  Providence  that 
watches  over  children  and  fools." 

Brentwick  dropped  a  calming  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  "  Your  simile  seems  singularly  happy, 
Philip.  Permit  me  to  suggest  that  you  j  oin  the  child 
in  my  study."  He  laughed  quietly,  with  a  slight  nod 
toward  an  open  door  at  the  end  of  the  hallway. 
"  For  myself,  I'll  be  with  you  in  one  moment." 

A  faint,  indulgent  smile  lurking  in  the  shadow  of 
his  white  mustache,  he  watched  the  young  man  wheel 

390 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  391 

and  dart  through  the  doorway.  "  Young  hearts !  " 
he  commented  inaudibly  —  and  a  trace  sadly. 
"Youth!  ..." 

Beyond  the  threshold  of  the  study,  Kirkwood 
paused,  eager  eyes  searching  its  somber  shadows  for  a 
sign  of  Dorothy. 

A  long  room  and  deep,  it  was  lighted  only  by  the 
circumscribed  disk  of  illumination  thrown  on  the 
central  desk  by  a  shaded  reading-lamp,  and  the 
flickering  glow  of  a  grate-fire  set  beneath  the  mantel 
jof  a  side-wall.  At  the  back,  heavy  velvet  portieres 
cloaked  the  recesses  of  two  long  windows,  closed 
jealously  even  against  the  twilight.  Aside  from  the 
windows,  doors  and  chimney-piece,  every  foot  of  wall 
space  was  occupied  by  towering  bookcases  or  by 
shelves  crowded  to  the  limit  of  their  capacity  with 
an  amazing  miscellany  of  objects  of  art,  the  fruit  of 
years  of  patient  and  discriminating  collecting.  An 
exotic  and  heady  atmosphere,  compounded  of  the 
faint  and  intangible  exhalations  of  these  insentient 
things,  fragrance  of  sandalwood,  myrrh  and  musk, 
reminiscent  whiffs  of  half-forgotten  incense,  seemed 
to  intensify  the  impression  of  gloomy  richness  and 
repose.  .  .  . 

By  the  fireplace,  a  little  to  one  side,  stood  Dorothy, 
one  small  foot  resting  on  the  brass  fender,  her  figure 
merging  into  the  dusky  background,  her  delicate 
beauty  gaining  an  effect  of  elusive  and  ethereal 


392  THE  BLACK  BAG 

mystery  in  the  waning  and  waxing  ruddy  glow  up- 
flung  from  the  bedded  coals. 

"  Oh,  Philip !  "  She  turned  swiftly  to  Kirkwood 
with  extended  hands  and  a  low,  broken  cry.  "  I'm 
so  glad.  .  .  ." 

A  trace  of  hysteria  in  her  manner  warned  him,  and 
he  checked  himself  upon  the  verge  of  a  too  dangerous 
tenderness.  "  There ! "  he  said  soothingly,  letting 
her  hands  rest  gently  in  his  palms  while  he  led  her 
to  a  chair.  "  We  can  make  ourselves  easy  now." 
She  sat  down  and  he  released  her  hands  with  a  reluc- 
tance less  evident  than  actual.  "  If  ever  I  say 
another  word  against,  my  luck — " 

"  Who,"  inquired  the  girl,  lowering  her  voice, 
"  who  is  the  gentleman  in  the  flowered  dressing- 
gown  ?  " 

"  Brentwick  —  George  Silvester  Brentwick :  an  old 
friend.  I've  known  him  for  years, —  ever  since  I  came 
abroad.  Curiously  enough,  however,  this  is  the  first 
time  I've  ever  been  here.  I  called  once,  but  he  wasn't 
in, —  a  few  days  ago, —  the  day  we  met.  I  thought 
the  place  looked  familiar.  Stupid  of  me !  " 

"  Philip,"  said  the  girl  with  a  grave  face  but  a 
shaking  voice,  "  it  was."  She  laughed  provokingly. 
"  It  was  so  funny,  Philip.  I  don't  know 
why  I  ran,  when  you  told  me  to,  but  I  did ;  and  while 
I  ran,  I  was  conscious  of  the  front  door,  here,  open- 
ing, and  this  tall  man  in  the  flowered  dressing-gown 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  393 

coming  down  to  the  gate  as  if  it  were  the  most 
ordinary  thing  in  the  world  for  him  to  stroll  out, 
dressed  that  way,  in  the  evening.  And  he  opened  the 
gate,  and  bowed,  and  said,  ever  so  pleasantly,  '  Won't 
you  come  in,  Miss  Calendar?  ' — " 

"  He  did !  "  exclaimed  Kirkwood.     "  But  how  — ?  " 

"  How  can  I  say  ?  "  she  expostulated.  "  At  all 
events,  he  seemed  to  know  me;  and  when  he  added 
something  about  calling  you  in,  too  —  he  said  *  Mr. 
Kirkwood  ' —  I  didn?t  hesitate." 

"It's  strange  enough,  surely  —  and  fortunate. 
Bless  his  heart ! "  said  Kirkwood. 

And,  "  Hum ! "  said  Mr.  Brentwick  considerately, 
entering  the  study.  He  had  discarded  the  dressing- 
gown  and  was  now  in  evening  dress. 

The  girl  rose.  Kirkwood  turned.  "  Mr.  Brent- 
wick  — "  he  began. 

But  Brentwick  begged  his  patience  with  an  elo- 
quent gesture.  "  Sir,"  he  said,  somewhat  austerely, 
"  permit  me  to  put  a  single  question :  Have  you  by 
any  chance  paid  your  cabby  ?  " 

"  Why  — "  faltered  the  younger  man,  with  a  flam- 
ing face.  "I  —  why,  no  —  that  is  — " 

The  other  quietly  put  his  hand  upon  a  bell-pull. 
A  faint  jingling  sound  was  at  once  audible,  emanating 
from  the  basement. 

"  How  much  should  you  say  you  owe  him  ?  " 

**  I  —  I  haven't  a  penny  in  the  world !  " 


394  THE  BLACK  BAG 

The  shrewd  eyes  flashed  their  amusement  into  Kirk- 
wood's.  "Tut,  tut!"  Brentwick  chuckled.  "Be- 
tween gentlemen,  my  dear  boy !  Dear  me !  you  are 
slow  to  learn." 

"  I'll  never  be  contented  to  sponge  on  my  friends," 
explained  Kirkwood  in  deepest  misery.  "  I  can't 
tell  when  — " 

"Tut,  tut!     How  much  did  you  say?" 

"  Ten  shillings  —  or  say  twelve,  would  be  about 
right,"  stammered  the  American,  swayed  by  conflict- 
ing emotions  of  gratitude  and  profound  embarrass- 
ment. 

A  soft-footed  butler,  impassive  as  Fate,  material- 
ized mysteriously  in  the  doorway. 

"  You  rang,  sir  ?  "  he  interrupted  frigidly. 

"  I  rang,  Wotton."  His  master  selected  a  sov- 
ereign from  his  purse  and  handed  it  to  the  servant. 
"  For  the  cabby,  Wotton." 

"  Yessir."  The  butler  swung  automatically  on 
one  heel. 

"  And  Wotton !  " 

"  Sir?  " 

"  If  any  one  should  ask  for  me,  I'm  not  at  home." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

"  And  if  you  should  see  a  pair  of  disreputable 
scoundrels  skulking  in  the  neighborhood,  one  short 
and  stout,  the  other  tall  and  evidently  a  seafaring: 
man,  let  me  know." 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  395 

"  Thank  you,  sir."  A  moment  later  the  front  door 
was  heard  to  close. 

Brentwick  turned  with  a  little  bow  to  the  girl. 
"  My  dear  Miss  Calendar,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  thin, 
fine  hands, — "  I  am  old  enough,  I  trust,  to  call  you 
such  without  offense, —  please  be  seated." 

Complying,  the  girl  rewarded  him  with  a  radiant 
smile.  Whereupon,  striding  to  the  fireplace,  their 
host  turned  his  back  to  it,  clasped  his  hands  behind 
him,  and  glowered  benignly  upon  the  two.  "  Ah !  " 
he  observed  in  accents  of  extreme  personal  satisfac- 
tion. "  Romance !  Romance !  " 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  us  how  you  knew  — " 
began  Kirkwood  anxiously. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  my  dear  Philip.  It  is  simple 
enough:  I  possess  an.  imagination.  From  my  bed- 
room window,  on  the  floor  above,  I  happen  to  behold 
two  cabs  racing  down  the  street,  the  one  doggedly 
pursuing  the  other.  The  foremost  stops,  per- 
force of  a  fagged  horse.  There  alights  a  young 
gentleman  looking,  if  you'll  pardon  me,  uncommonly 
seedy;  he  is  followed  by  a  young  lady,  if  she  will 
pardon  me,"  with  another  little  bow,  "  uncommonly 
pretty.  With  these  two  old  eyes  I  observe  that  the 
gentleman  does  not  pay  his  cabby.  Ergo  —  I  in- 
telligently deduce  —  he  is  short  of  money.  Eh?" 

"  You  were  right,"  affirmed  Kirkwood,  with  his 
rueful  and  crooked  smile.  "  But  — " 


396  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  So !  so ! "  pursued  Brentwick,  rising  on  his  toes 
and  dropping  back  again ;  "  so  this  world  of  ours 
wags  on  to  the  old,  old  tune!  .  .  .  And  I,  who 
in  my  younger  days  pursued  adventure  without  suc- 
cess, in  dotage  find  myself  dragged  into  a  romance 
by  my  two  ears,  whether  I  will  or  no!  Eh?  And 
now  you  are  going  to  tell  me  all  about  it,  Philip. 
There  is  a  chair.  ....  Well,  Wotton?  " 

The  butler  had  again  appeared  noiselessly  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir ;  they're  waiting,  sir." 

"  The  caitiffs,  Wotton?  " 

"  Yessir." 

"  Where  waiting?  " 

"  One  at  each  end  of  the  street,  sir." 

"  Thank  you.  You  may  bring  us  sherry  and  bis- 
cuit, Wotton." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

The  servant  vanished. 

Brentwick  removed  his  glasses,  rubbed  them,  and 
blinked  thoughtfully  at  the  girl.  "  My  dear,"  he 
said  suddenly,  with  a  peculiar  tremor  in  his  voice, 
"  you  resemble  your  mother  remarkably.  Tut  —  I 
should  know !  Time  was  when  I  was  one  of  her  most 
ardent  admirers." 

"  You  —  y-you  knew  my  mother  ?  "  cried  Dorothy, 
profoundly  moved. 

"  Did  I  not  know  you  at  sight  ?     My  dear,  you  are 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  397 

your  mother  reincarnate,  for  the  good  of  an  unworthy 
world.  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman,  my  dear." 

Wotton  entered  with  a  silver  serving  tray,  offering 
it  in  turn  to  Dorothy,  Kirkwood  and  his  employer. 
While  he  was  present  the  three  held  silent  —  the  girl 
trembling  slightly,  but  with  her  face  aglow ;  Kirk- 
wood  half  stupefied  between  his  ease  from  care  and  his 
growing  astonishment,  as  Brentwick  continued  to  re- 
veal unexpected  phases  of  his  personality ;  Brentwick 
himself  outwardly  imperturbable  and  complacent,  for 
all  that  his  hand  shook  as  he  lifted  his  wine  glass. 

"  You  may  go,  Wotton  —  or,  wait.  Don't  you 
feel  the  need  of  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  Wotton?  " 

"  Yessir,  thank  you,  sir." 

"  Then  change  your  coat,  Wotton,  light  your 
pipe,  and  stroll  out  for  half  an  hour.  You  need  not 
leave  the  street,  but  if  either  the  tall  thin  blackguard 
with  the  seafaring  habit,  or  the  short  stout  rascal  with 
the  air  of  mystery  should  accost  you,  treat  them  with 
all  courtesy,  Wotton.  You  will  be  careful  not  to 
tell  either  of  them  anything  in  particular,  although  I 
don't  mind  your  telling  them  that  Mr.  Brentwick 
lives  here,  if  they  ask.  I  am  mostly  concerned  to  dis- 
cover if  they  purpose  becoming  fixtures  on  the  street- 
corners,  Wotton.'* 

"  Quite  so,  sir." 

"  Now  you  may  go.  .  .  .  Wotton,"  con- 
tinued his  employer  as  the  butler  took  himself  off 


398  THE  BLACK  BAG 

as  softly  as  a  cat,  "  grows  daily  a  more  valuable 
mechanism.  He  is  by  no  means  human  in  any  re- 
spect, but  I  find  him  extremely  handy  to  have  round 
the  house.  .  .  .  And  now,  my  dear,"  turning  to 
Dorothy,  "  with  your  permission  I  desire  to  drink  to 
the  memory  of  your  beautiful  mother  and  to  the  hap- 
piness of  her  beautiful  daughter." 

"  But  you  will  tell  me  — " 

"  A  number  of  interesting  things,  Miss  Calendar, 
if  you'll  be  good  enough  to  let  me  choose  the  time. 
I  beg  you  to  be  patient  with  the  idiosyncrasies  of  an 
old  man,  who  means  no  harm,  who  has  a  reputation 
as  an  eccentric  to  sustain  before  his  servants.  .  .  . 
And  now,"  said  Brentwick,  setting  aside  his  glass, 
"  now,  my  dear  boy,  for  the  adventure." 

Kirkwood  chuckled,  infected  by  his  host's  genial 
humor.  "  How  do  you  know  — " 

"  How  can  it  be  otherwise?  "  countered  Brentwick 
with  a  trace  of  asperity.  "  Am  I  to  be  denied  my 
adventure?  Sir,  I  refuse  without  equivocation. 
Your  very  bearing  breathes  of  Romance.  There 
must  be  an  adventure  forthcoming,  Philip;  otherwise 
my  disappointment  will  be  so  acute  that  I  shall  be  re- 
gretfully obliged  seriously  to  consider  my  right,  as  a 
householder,  to  show  you  the  door." 

"  But  Mr.  Brentwick  — !  " 

"  Sit  down,  sir ! "  commanded  Brentwick  with  such 
a  peremptory  note  that  the  young  man,  who  had  risen, 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  399 

obeyed  out  of  sheer  surprise.  Upon  which  his  host 
advanced,  indicting  him  with  a  long  white  forefin- 
ger. "  Would  you,  sir,"  he  demanded,  "  again  expose 
this  little  lady  to  the  machinations  of  that  corpulent 
scoundrel,  whom  I  have  just  had  the  pleasure  of 
shooing  off  my  premises,  because  you  choose  to  resent 
an  old  man's  raillery  ?  " 

"  I  apologize,"  Kirkwood  humored  him. 

"  I  accept  the  apology  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  is 
offered.  ...  I  repeat,  now  for  the  adventure, 
Philip.  If  the  story's  long,  epitomize.  We  can  con- 
sider details  more  at  our  leisure." 

Kirkwood's  eyes  consulted  the  girl's  face ;  almost 
imperceptibly  she  nodded  him  permission  to  proceed. 

"  Briefly,  then,"  he  began  haltingly,  "  the  man  who 
followed  us  to  the  door  here,  is  Miss  Calendar's 
father." 

"  Oh  ?     His  name,  please  ?  " 

"  George  Burgoyne  Calendar." 

"  Ah !  An  American :  I  remember,  now.  Con- 
tinue, please." 

"  He  is  hounding  us,  sir,  with  the  intention  of  steal- 
ing some  property,  which  he  caused  to  be  stolen, 
which  we  —  to  put  it  bluntly  —  stole  from  him,  to 
which  he  has  no  shadow  of  a  title,  and  which,  finally, 
we're  endeavoring  to  return  to  its  owners." 

"  My  dear !  "  interpolated  Brentwick  gently,  look- 
ing down  at  the  girl's  flushed  face  and  drooping  head. 


400  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  He  ran  us  to  the  last  ditch,"  Kirkwood  continued ; 
"  I've  spent  my  last  farthing  trying  to  lose  him." 

"  But  why  have  you  not  caused  his  arrest?  "  Brent- 
wick  inquired. 

Kirkwood  nodded  meaningly  toward  the  girl. 
Brentwick  made  a  sound  indicating  comprehension,  a 
click  of  the  tongue  behind  closed  teeth. 

"  We  came  to  your  door  by  the  merest  accident  — 
it  might  as  well  have  been  another.  I  understood  you 
were  in  Munich,  and  it  never  entered  my  head  that 
we'd  find  you  home." 

"  A  communication  from  my  solicitors  detained  me," 
explained  Brentwick.  "  And  now,  what  do  you  in- 
tend to  do?" 

"  Trespass  as  far  on  your  kindness  as  you'll  per- 
mit. In  the  first  place,  I  —  I  want  the  use  of  a  few 
pounds  with  which  to  cable  some  friends  in  New  York, 
for  money ;  on  receipt  of  which  I  can  repay  you." 

"  Philip,"  observed  Brentwood,  "  you  are  a  most 
irritating  child.  But  I  forgive  you  the  faults  of 
youth.  You  may  proceed,  bearing  in  mind,  if  you 
please,  that  I  am  your  friend  equally  with  any  you 
may  own  in  America." 

"  You're  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world,"  said 
Kirkwood. 

"  Tut,  tut!     Will  you  get  on?  " 

"  Secondly,  I  want  you  to  help  us  to  escape 
Calendar  to-night.  It  is  necessary  that  Miss 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  401 

Calendar  should  go  to  Chiltern  this  evening,  where  she 
has  friends  who  will  receive  and  protect  her." 

"  Mm-mm,"  grumbled  their  host,  meditative.  "  My 
faith !  "  he  commented,  with  brightening  eyes.  "  It 
sounds  almost  too  good  to  be  true!  And  I've  been 
growing  afraid  that  the  world  was  getting  to  be  a 
most  humdrum  and  uninteresting  planet! 
Miss  Calendar,  I  am  a  widower  of  so  many  years' 
standing  that  I  had  almost  forgotten  I  had  ever  been 
anything  but  a  bachelor.  I  fear  my  house  contains 
little  that  will  be  of  service  to  a  young  lady.  Yet  a 
room  is  at  your  disposal;  the  parlor-maid  shall  show 
you  the  way.  And  Philip,  between  you  and  me,  I 
venture  to  remark  that  hot  water  and  cold  steel  would 
add  to  the  attractiveness  of  your  personal  appear- 
ance ;  my  valet  will  attend  you  in  my  room.  Dinner," 
concluded  Brentwick  with  anticipative  relish,  "  will 
be  served  in  precisely  thirty  minutes.  I  shall  expect 
you  to  entertain  me  with  a  full  and  itemized  account 
of  every  phase  of  your  astonishing  adventure. 
Later,  we  will  find  a  way  to  Chiltern." 

Again  he  put  a  hand  upon  the  bell-pull.  Simul- 
taneously Dorothy  and  Kirkwood  rose. 

"  Mr.  Brentwick,"  said  the  girl,  her  eyes  starred 
with  tears  of  gratitude,  "  I  don't,  I  really  don't  know 
how  — " 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  you  will 
thank  me  most  appropriately  by  continuing,  to  the 


402  THE  BLACK  BAG 

best  of  your  ability,  to  resemble  your  mother  more 
remarkably  every  minute." 

"  But  I,"  began  Kirkwood 

"  You,  my  dear  Philip,  can  thank  me  best  by  per- 
mitting me  to  enjoy  myself;  which  I  am  doing 
thoroughly  at  the  present  moment.  My  pleasure  in 
being  invited  to  interfere  in  your  young  affairs  is 
more  keen  than  you  can  well  surmise.  Moreover," 
said  Mr.  Brentwick,  "  so  long  have  I  been  an  amateur 
adventurer  that  I  esteem  it  the  rarest  privilege  to  find 
myself  thus  on  the  point  of  graduating  into  profes- 
sional ranks."  He  rubbed  his  hands,  beaming  upon 
them.  "  And,"  he  added,  as  a  maid  appeared  at  the 
door,  "  I  have  already  schemed  me  a  scheme  for  the 
discomfiture  of  our  friends  the  enemy :  a  scheme  which 
we  will  discuss  with  our  dinner,  while  the  heathen  rage 
and  imagine  a  vain  thing,  in  the  outer  darkness." 

Kirkwood  would  have  lingered,  but  of  such  in- 
flexible temper  was  his  host  that  he  bowed  him  into 
the  hands  of  a  man  servant  without  permitting  him 
another  word. 

"  Not  a  syllable,"  he  insisted.  "  I  protest  I  am 
devoured  with  curiosity,  my  dear  boy,  but  I  have  also 
bowels  of  compassion.  When  we  are  well  on  with 
our  meal,  when  you  are  strengthened  with  food  and 
drink,  then  you  may  begin.  But  now  —  Dickie,"  to 
the  valet,  "  do  your  duty  !  " 

Kirkwood,  laughing  with  exasperation,  retired  at 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  403 

discretion,  leaving  Brentwick  the  master  of  the 
situation :  a  charming  gentleman  with  a  will  of  his 
own  and  a  way  that  went  with  it. 

He  heard  the  young  man's  footsteps  diminish  on 
the  stairway ;  and  again  he  smiled  the  indulgent, 
melancholy  smile  of  mellow  years.  "  Youth  !  "  he 
whispered  softly.  "  Romance !  .  .  .  And  now," 
with  a  brisk  change  of  tone  as  he  closed  the  study 
door,  "  now  we  are  ready  for  this  interesting  Mr. 
Calendar." 

Sitting  down  at  his  desk,  he  found  and  consulted 
a  telephone  directory ;  but  its  leaves,  at  first  rustling 
briskly  at  the  touch  of  the  slender  and  delicate  fingers, 
were  presently  permitted  to  lie  unturned, —  the  book 
resting  open  on  his  knees  the  while  he  stared  wistfully 
into  the  fire. 

A  suspicion  of  moisture  glimmered  in  his  eyes. 
"  Dorothy ! "  he  whispered  huskily.  And  a  little 
later,  rising,  he  proceeded  to  the  telephone. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later  Kirkwood,  his  self-respect 
something  restored  by  a  bath,  a  shave,  and  a  resump- 
tion of  clothes  which  had  been  hastily  but  thoroughly 
cleansed  and  pressed  by  Brentwick's  valet;  his  con- 
fidence and  courage  mounting  high  under  the  com- 
bined influence  of  generous  wine,  substantial  food,  the 
presence  of  his  heart's  mistress  and  the  admiration  — • 
which  was  unconcealed  —  of  his  friend,  concluded  at 
the  dinner-table,  his  narration. 


404.  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  And  that,"  he  said,  looking  up  from  his  savory, 
"  is  about  all." 

"  Bravo! "  applauded  Brentwick,  eyes  shining  with 
delight. 

"  All,"  interposed  Dorothy  in  warm  reproach,  "  but 
what  he  hasn't  told  — " 

"  Which,  my  dear,  is  to  be  accounted  for  wholly 
by  a  very  creditable  modesty,  rarely  encountered  in 
the  young  men  of  the  present  day.  It  was,  of  course* 
altogether  different  with  those  of  my  younger  years. 
Yes,  Wotton?" 

Brentwick  sat  back  in  his  chair,  inclining  an  atten- 
tive ear  to  a  communication  murmured  by  the  butler. 

Kirkwood's  gaze  met  Dorothy's  across  the  expanse 
of  shining  cloth;  he  deprecated  her  interruption  with 
a  whimsical  twist  of  his  eyebrows.  "  Really,  you 
shouldn't,"  he  assured  her  in  an  undertone.  "  I've 
done  nothing  to  deserve  .  .  . "  But  under  the 
spell  of  her  serious  sweet  eyes,  he  fell  silent,  and 
presently  looked  down,  strangely  abashed;  and  con- 
templated the  vast  enormity  of  his  unworthiness. 

Coffee  was  set  before  them  by  Wotton,  the  im- 
passive, Brentwick  refusing  it  with  a  little  sigh.  "  It 
is  one  of  the  things,  as  Philip  knows,"  he  explained 
to  the  girl,  "  denied  me  by  the  physician  who  makes 
his  life  happy  by  making  mine  a  waste.  I  am  allowed 
but  three  luxuries;  cigars,  travel  in  moderation,  and 
the  privilege  of  imposing  on  my  friends.  The  first 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  405 

I  propose  presently  to  enjoy,  by  your  indulgence; 
and  the  second  I  shall  this  evening  undertake  by  vir- 
tue of  the  third,  of  which  I  have  just  availed  myself." 

Smiling  at  the  involution,  he  rested  his  head  against 
the  back  of  the  chair,  eyes  roving  from  the  girl's  face 
to  Kirkwood's.  "  Inspiration  to  do  which,"  he  pro- 
ceeded gravely,  "  came  to  me  from  the  seafaring 
picaroon  (Stryker  did  you  name  him?)  via  the  excel- 
lent Wotton.  While  you  were  preparing  for  dinner, 
Wotton  returned  from  his  constitutional  with  the  news 
that,  leaving  the  corpulent  person  on  watch  at  the 
corner,  Captain  Stryker  had  temporarily  made  him- 
self scarce.  However,  we  need  feel  no  anxiety  con- 
cerning his  whereabouts,  for  he  reappeared  in  good 
time  and  a  motor-car.  From  which  it  becomes  evident 
that  you  have  not  overrated  their  pertinacity;  the 
fiasco  of  the  cab-chase  is  not  to  be  reenacted." 

Resolutely  the  girl  repressed  a  gasp  of  dismay. 
Kirkwood  stared  moodily  into  his  cup. 

"  These  men  bore  me  fearfully,"  he  commented 
at  last. 

"  And  so,"  continued  Brentwick,  "  I  bethought  me 
of  a  counter-stroke.  It  is  my  good  fortune  to  have 
a  friend  whose  whim  it  is  to  support  a  touring-car, 
chiefly  in  innocuous  idleness.  Accordingly  I  have 
telephoned  him  and  commandeered  the  use  of  this 
machine  —  mechanician,  too.  .  .  .  Though  not 
a  betting  man,  I  am  willing  to  risk  recklessly  a  few 


406  THE  BLACK  BAG 

pence  in  support  of  my  contention,  that  of  the  two, 
Captain  Stryker's  car  and  ours,  the  latter  will  prove 
considerably  the  most  speedy.  .  .  . 

"  In  short,  I  suggest,"  he  concluded,  thoughtfully 
lacing  his  long  white  fingers,  "  that,  avoiding  the 
hazards  of  cab  and  railway  carriage,  we  motor  to 
Chiltern:  the  night  being  fine  and  the  road,  I  am 
told,  exceptionally  good.  Miss  Dorothy,  what  do  you 
think?" 

Instinctively  the  girl  looked  to  Kirkwood ;  then 
shifted  her  glance  to  their  host.  "  I  think  you  are 
wonderfully  thoughtful  and  kind,"  she  said  simply. 

"And  you,  Philip?" 

"  It's  an  inspiration,"  the  younger  man  declared. 
"  I  can't  think  of  anything  better  calculated  to  throw 
them  off,  than  to  distance  them  by  motor-car.  It 
would  be  always  possible  to  trace  our  journey  by 
rail." 

"  Then,"  announced  Brentwick,  making  as  if  to 
rise,  "  we  had  best  go.  If  neither  my  hearing  nor 
Captain  Stryker's  car  deceives  me,  our  fiery  chariot 
is  panting  at  the  door." 

A  little  sobered  from  the  confident  spirit  of  quiet 
gaiety  in  which  they  had  dined,  they  left  the  table. 
Not  that,  in  their  hearts,  either  greatly  questioned 
their  ultimate  triumph;  but  they  were  allowing  for 
the  element  of  error  so  apt  to  set  at  naught  human 
calculations.  Calendar  himself  had  already  been 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  407 

proved  fallible.  Within  the  bounds  of  possibility, 
their  turn  to  stumble  might  now  be  imminent. 

When  he  let  himself  dwell  upon  it,  their  utter  help- 
lessness to  give  Calendar  pause  by  commonplace 
methods,  maddened  Kirkwood.  With  another  scoun- 
drel it  had  been  so  simple  a  matter  to  put  a  period  to 
his  activities  by  a  word  to  the  police.  But  he  was  her 
father ;  for  that  reason  he  must  continually  be  spared 
Even  though,  in  desperate  extremity,  she 
should  give  consent  to  the  arrest  of  the  adventurers, 
retaliation  would  follow,  swift  and  sure.  For  they 
might  not  overlook  nor  gloze  the  fact  that  hers  had 
been  the  hands  responsible  for  the  theft  of  the 
jewels;  innocent  though  she  had  been  in  committing 
that  larceny,  a  cat's-paw  guided  by  an  intelligence 
unscrupulous  and  malign,  the  law  would  not  hold 
her  guiltless  were  she  once  brought  within  its  cogni- 
zance. Nor,  possibly,  would  the  Hallams,  mother  and 
son. 

Upon  their  knowledge  and  their  fear  of  this,  un- 
doubtedly Calendar  was  reckoning:  witness  the  bare- 
faced effrontery  with  which  he  operated  against  them. 
His  fear  of  the  police  might  be  genuine  enough,  but 
he  was  never  for  an  instant  disturbed  by  any  doubt 
lest  his  daughter  should  turn  against  him.  She  would 
never  dare  that. 

Before  they  left  the  house,  while  Dorothy  was 
above  stairs  resuming  her  hat  and  coat,  Kirkwood 


408  THE  BLACK  BAG 

and  Brentwick  reconnoitered  from  the  drawing-room 
windows,  themselves  screened  from  observation  by  the 
absence  of  light  in  the  room  behind. 

Before  the  door  a  motor-car  waited,  engines  hum- 
ming impatiently,  mechanician  ready  in  his  seat,  an 
uncouth  shape  in  goggles  and  leather  garments  that 
shone  like  oilskins  under  the  street  lights. 

At  one  corner  another  and  a  smaller  car  stood 
in  waiting,  its  lamps  like  baleful  eyes  glaring  through 
the  night. 

In  the  shadows  across  the  way,  a  lengthy  shadow 
lurked:  Stryker,  beyond  reasonable  question.  Other- 
wise the  street  was  deserted.  Not  even  that  adventi- 
tous  bobby  of  the  early  evening  was  now  in  evidence. 

Dorothy  presently  joining  them,  Brentwick  led  the 
way  to  the  door. 

Wotton,  apparently  nerveless  beneath  his  absolute 
immobility,  let  them  out  —  and  slammed  the  door  be- 
hind them  with  such  promptitude  as  to  give  cause  for 
the  suspicion  that  he  was  a  fraud,  a  sham,  beneath 
his  icy  exterior  desperately  afraid  lest  the  house  be 
stormed  by  the  adventurers. 

Kirkwood  to  the  right,  Brentwick  to  the  left  of 
Dorothy,  the  former  carrying  the  treasure  bag,  they 
hastened  down  the  walk  and  through  the  gate  to  the 
car. 

The  watcher  across  the  way  was  moved  to  whistle 
shrilly ;  the  other  car  lunged  forward  nervously. 


ADVENTURERS'  LUCK  409 

Brentwick  taking  the  front  seat,  beside  the  mechan- 
ician, left  the  tonneau  to  Kirkwood  and  Dorothy. 
As  the  American  slammed  the  door,  the  car  swept 
smoothly  out  into  the  middle  of  the  way,  while  the 
pursuing  car  swerved  in  to  the  other  curb,  slowing 
down  to  let  Stryker  jump  aboard. 

Kirkwood  put  himself  in  the  seat  by  the  girl's  side 
and  for  a  few  moments  was  occupied  with  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  robes.  Then,  sitting  back,  he  found  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  him,  pools  of  inscrutable  night  in  the 
shadow  of  her  hat. 

"  You  aren't  afraid,  Dorothy?  " 

She  answered  quietly :  "  I  am  with  you,  Philip." 

Beneath  the  robe  their  hands  met.     .     .     . 

Exalted,  excited,  he  turned  and  looked  back.  A 
hundred  yards  to  the  rear  four  unwinking  eyes  trailed 
them,  like  some  modern  Nemesis  in  monstrous  guise. 


XIX 

I THE    UXBEIDGE    EOAD 

At  a  steady  gait,  now  and  again  checked  in  defer- 
ence to  the  street  traffic,  Brentwick's  motor-car  rolled, 
with  resonant  humming  of  the  engine,  down  the  Crom- 
well Road,  swerved  into  Warwick  Road  and  swung 
northward  through  Kensington  to  Shepherd's  Bush. 
Behind  it  Calendar's  car  clung  as  if  towed  by  an 
invisible  cable,  never  gaining,  never  losing,  mutely 
testifying  to  the  adventurer's  unrelenting,  grim  deter- 
mination to  leave  them  no  instant's  freedom  from 
surveillance,  to  keep  for  ever  at  their  shoulders,  watch- 
ing his  chance,  biding  his  time  with  sinister  patience 
until  the  moment  when,  wearied,  their  vigilance  should 
relax.  .  .  . 

To  some  extent  he  reckoned  without  his  motor-car. 
As  long  as  they  traveled  within  the  metropolitan 
limits,  constrained  to  observe  a  decorous  pace  in 
view  of  the  prejudices  of  the  County  Council,  it  was 
a  matter  of  no  difficulty  whatever  to  maintain  his  dis- 
tance. But  once  they  had  won  through  Shepherd's 
Bush  and,  paced  by  huge  doubledeck  trolley  trams, 
were  flying  through  Hammersmith  on  the  Uxbridge 

410 


THE  UXBRIDGE  ROAD 

Road;  once  they  had  run  through  Acton,  and  knew 
beyond  dispute  that  now  they  were  without  the  city 
boundaries,  then  the  complexion  of  the  business  was 
suddenly  changed. 

Not  too  soon  for  honest  sport;  Calendar  was  to 
have  (Kirkwood  would  have  said  in  lurid  American 
idiom)  a  run  for  his  money.  The  scattered  lights 
of  Southall  were  winking  out  behind  them  before 
Brentwick  chose  to  give  the  word  to  the  mechanician. 

Quietly  the  latter  threw  in  the  clutch  for  the  third 
speed  —  and  the  fourth.  The  car  leaped  forward 
like  a  startled  race-horse.  The  motor  lilted  merrily 
into  its  deep-throated  song  of  the  open  road,  its 
contented,  silken  humming  passing  into  a  sonorous 
and  sustained  purr. 

Kirkwood  and  the  girl  were  first  jarred  violently 
forward,  then  thrown  together.  She  caught  his  arm 
to  steady  herself;  it  seemed  the  most  natural  thing 
imaginable  that  he  should  take  her  hand  and  pass 
it  beneath  his  arm,  holding  her  so,  his  fingers  closed 
above  her  own.  Before  they  had  recovered,  or  had 
time  to  catch  their  breath,  a  mile  of  Middlesex  had 
dropped  to  the  rear. 

Not  quite  so  far  had  they  distanced  Calendar's 
trailing  Nemesis  of  the  four  glaring  eyes ;  the  pur- 
suers put  forth  a  gallant  effort  to  hold  their  place. 
At  intervals  during  the  first  few  minutes  a  heavy 
roaring  and  crashing  could  be  heard  behind  them ; 


412  THE  BLACK  BAG 

gradually  it  subsided,  dying  on  the  wings  of  the  free 
rushing  wind  that  buffeted  their  faces  as  mile  after 
mile  was  reeled  off  and  the  wide,  darkling  English 
countryside  opened  out  before  them,  sweet  and  won- 
derful. 

Once  Kirkwood  looked  back ;  in  the  winking  of  an 
eye  he  saw  four  faded  disks  of  light,  pallid  with  de- 
spair, top  a  distant  rise  and  glide  down  into  darkness. 
When  he  turned,  Dorothy  was  interrogating  him  with 
eyes  whose  melting,  shadowed  loveliness,  revealed  to 
him  in  the  light  of  the  far,  still  stars,  seemed  to  incite 
him  to  that  madness  which  he  had  bade  himself  resist 
with  all  his  strength. 

He  shook  his  head,  as  if  to  say :  They  can  not  catch 
us. 

His  hour  was  not  yet ;  time  enough  to  think  of  love 
and  marriage  (as  if  he  were  capable  of  consecutive 
thought  on  any  other  subject!) — time  enough  to 
think  of  them  when  he  had  gone  back  to  his  place, 
or  rather  when  he  should  have  found  it,  in  the  ranks 
of  bread-winners,  and  so  have  proved  his  right  to 
mortal  happiness;  time  enough  then  to  lay  whatever 
he  might  have  to  offer  at  her  feet.  Now  he  could 
conceive  of  no  baser  treachery  to  his  soul's  desire 
than  to  advantage  himself  of  her  gratitude. 

Resolutely  he  turned  his  face  forward,  striving 
with  all  his  will  and  might  to  forget  the  temptation 
of  her  lips,  weary  as  they  were  and  petulant  with 


THE  UXBRIDGE  ROAD 

waiting ;  and  so  sat  rigid  in  his  time  of  trial,  clinging 
with  what  strength  he  could  to  the  standards  of  his 
honor,  and  trying  to  lose  his  dream  in  dreaming  of 
the  bitter  struggle  that  seemed  likely  to  be  his  future 
portion. 

Perhaps  she  guessed  a  little  of  the  fortunes  of  the 
battle  that  was  being  waged  within  him.  Perhaps 
not.  Whatever  the  trend  of  her  thoughts,  she  did 
not  draw  away  from  him.  .  .  .  Perhaps  the 
breath  of  night,  fresh  and  clean  and  fragrant  with 
the  odor  of  the  fields  and  hedges,  sweeping  into 
her  face  with  velvety  caress,  rendered  her  drowsy. 
Presently  the  silken  lashes  drooped,  fluttering  upon 
her  cheeks,  the  tired  and  happy  smile  hovered  about 
her  lips.  .  .  . 

In  something  less  than  half  an  hour  of  this  wild 
driving,  Kirkwood  roused  out  of  his  reverie  sufficiently 
to  become  sensible  that  the  speed  was  slackening.  In- 
coherent snatches  of  sentences,  fragments  of  words 
and  phrases  spoken  by  Brentwick  and  the  mechani- 
cian, were  flung  back  past  his  ears  by  the  rushing 
wind.  Shielding  his  eyes  he  could  see  dimly  that  the 
mechanician  was  tinkering  (apparently)  with  the 
driving  gear.  Then,  their  pace  continuing  steadily 
to  abate,  he  heard  Brentwick  fling  at  the  man  a 
sharp-toned  and  querulously  impatient  question: 
What  was  the  trouble?  His  reply  came  in  a  single 
word,  not  distinguishable. 


414  THE  BLACK  BAG 

The  girl  sat  up,  opening  her  eyes,  disengaging  her 
arm. 

Kirkwood  bent  forward  and  touched  Brentwick  on 
the  shoulder;  the  latter  turned  to  him  a  face  lined 
with  deep  concern. 

"  Trouble,"  he  announced  superfluously.  "  I  fear 
we  have  blundered." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Dorothy  in  a  troubled  voice. 

"  Petrol  seems  to  be  running  low.  Charles  here  " 
(he  referred  to  the  mechanician)  "  says  the  tank  must 
be  leaking.  We'll  go  on  as  best  we  can  and  try  to 
find  an  inn.  Fortunately,  most  of  the  inns  nowadays 
keep  supplies  of  petrol  for  just  such  emergencies." 

"  Are  we  —  ?     Do  you  think  —  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  not  a  bit  of  danger  of  that"  returned 
Brentwick  hastily.  "  They'll  not  catch  up  with  us 
this  night.  That  is  a  very  inferior  car  they  have, 
—  so  Charles  says,  at  least ;  nothing  to  compare  with 
this.  If  I'm  not  in  error,  there's  the  Crown  and 
Mitre  just  ahead;  we'll  make  it,  fill  our  tanks,  and  be 
off  again  before  they  can  make  up  half  their  loss." 

Dorothy  looked  anxiously  to  Kirkwood,  her  lips 
forming  an  unuttered  query :  What  did  he  think  ? 

"  Don't  worry ;  we'll  have  no  trouble,"  he  assured 
her  stoutly ;  "  the  chauffeur  knows,  undoubtedly." 

None  the  less  he  was  moved  to  stand  up  in  the 
tonneau,  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the  traveling 
bag,  snug  between  his  feet,  as  well  as  of  the  weight 


THE  UXBRIDGE  ROAD  415 

of  Calendar's  revolver  in  his  pocket,  while  he  stared 
back  along  the  road. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  of  their  persecutors. 

The  car  continued  to  crawl.  Five  minutes  dragged 
out  tediously.  Gradually  they  drew  abreast  a  tavern 
standing  back  a  distance  from  the  road,  embowered 
in  a  grove  of  trees  between  whose  ancient  boles  the 
tap-room  windows  shone  enticingly,  aglow  with  com- 
fortable light.  A  creaking  sign-board,  much  worn 
by  weather  and  age,  swinging  from  a  roadside  post, 
confirmed  the  accuracy  of  Brentwick's  surmise,  an- 
nouncing that  here  stood  the  Crown  and  Mitre,  house 
of  entertainment  for  man  and  beast. 

Sluggishly  the  car  rolled  up  before  it  and  came  to 
a  dead  and  silent  halt.  Charles,  the  mechanician, 
jumping  out,  ran  hastily  up  the  path  towards  the 
inn.  In  the  car  Brentwick  turned  again,  his  eyes 
curiously  bright  in  the  starlight,  his  forehead  quaint- 
ly furrowed,  his  voice  apologetic. 

"  It  may  take  a  few  minutes,"  he  said  undecidedly, 
plainly  endeavoring  to  cover  up  his  own  dark  doubts. 
"  My  dear,"  to  the  girl,  "  if  I  have  brought  trouble 
upon  you  in  this  wise,  I  shall  never  earn  my  own  for- 
giveness." 

Kirkwood  stood  up  again,  watchful,  attentive  to 
the  sounds  of  night;  but  the  voice  of  the  pursuing- 
motor-car  was  not  of  their  company.  "  I  hear  noth- 
ing," he  announced. 


416  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  You  will  forgive  me, —  won't  you,  my  dear  ?  — 
for  causing  you  these  few  moments  of  needless 
anxiety?  "  pleaded  the  old  gentleman,  his  tone  tremu- 
lous. 

"  As  if  you  could  be  blamed ! "  protested  the  girl. 
"  You  mustn't  think  of  it  that  way.  Fancy,  what 
should  we  have  done  without  you ! " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  have  been  very  clumsy,"  sighed 
Brentwick,  "  clumsy  and  impulsive.  .  .  .  Kirk- 
wood,  do  you  hear  anything?  " 

"  Not  yet,  sir." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Brentwick  a  little  later, 
"  perhaps  we  had  better  alight  and  go  up  to  the  inn. 
It  would  be  more  cosy  there,  especially  if  the 
petrol  proves  hard  to  obtain,  and  we  have  long  to 
wait." 

"  I  should  like  that,"  assented  the  girl  decidedly. 

Kirkwood  nodded  his  approval,  opened  the  door 
and  jumped  out  to  assist  her;  then  picked  up  the 
bag  and  followed  the  pair, —  Brentwick  leading  the 
way  with  Dorothy  on  his  arm. 

At  the  doorway  of  the  Crown  and  Mitre,  Charles 
met  them  evidently  seriously  disturbed.  "  No  petrol 
to  be  had  here,  sir,"  he  announced  reluctantly ;  "  but 
the  landlord  will  send  to  the  next  inn,  a  mile  up  the 
road,  for  some.  You  will  have  to  be  patient,  I'm 
afraid,  sir." 

"  Very  well.     Get  some  one  to  help  you  push  the 


THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE  417 

car  in  from  the  road,"  ordered  Brentwick ;  "  we  will 
be  waiting  in  one  of  the  private  parlors." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  thank  you,  sir."  The  mechanician 
touched  the  visor  of  his  cap  and  hurried  off. 

"  Come,  Kirkwood."  Gently  Brentwick  drew  the 
girl  in  with  him. 

Kirkwood  lingered  momentarily  on  the  doorstep,  to 
listen  acutely.  But  the  wind  was  blowing  into  that 
quarter  whence  they  had  come,  and  he  could  hear 
naught  save  the  soughing  in  the  trees,  together  with 
an  occasional  burst  of  rude  rustic  laughter  from  the 
tap-room.  Lifting  his  shoulders  in  dumb  dismay,  and 
endeavoring  to  compose  his  features,  he  entered  the 
tavern. 


n THE    CROWN    AND    MITRE 

A  rosy-cheeked  and  beaming  landlady  met  him  in 
the  corridor  and,  all  bows  and  smiles,  ushered  him 
into  a  private  parlor  reserved  for  the  party,  immedi- 
ately bustling  off  in  a  desperate  flurry,  to  secure 
refreshments  desired  by  Brentwick. 

The  girl  had  seated  herself  on  one  end  of  an  ex- 
tremely comfortless  lounge  and  was  making  a  palpa- 
ble effort  to  seem  at  ease.  Brentwick  stood  at  one  of 
the  windows,  shoulders  rounded  and  head  bent,  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back  as  he  peered  out  into  the  night. 
Kirkwood  dropped  the  traveling  bag  beneath  a  chair 


418  THE  BLACK  BAG 

the  farthest  removed  from  the  doorway,  and  took  to 
pacing  the  floor. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  a  tall  grandfather's  clock 
ticked  off  ten  interminable  minutes.  For  some  reason 
unconscionably  delaying,  the  landlady  did  not  reap- 
pear. Brentwick,  abruptly  turning  from  the  window, 
remarked  the  fact  querulously,  then  drew  a  chair  up 
to  a  marble-topped  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 

"  My  dear,"  he  requested  the  girl,  "  will  you  oblige 
me  by  sitting  over  here?  And  Philip,  bring  up  a 
chair,  if  you  will.  We  must  not  permit  ourselves  to 
worry,  and  I  have  something  here  which  may,  per- 
haps, engage  your  interest  for  a  while." 

To  humor  him  and  alleviate  his  evident  distress  of 
mind,  they  acceded.  Kirkwood  found  himself  seated 
opposite  Dorothy,  Brentwick  between  them.  After 
some  hesitation,  made  the  more  notable  by  an  air  of 
uneasiness  which  sat  oddly  on  his  shoulders,  whose 
composure  and  confident  mien  had  theretofore  been 
so  complete  and  so  reassuring,  the  elder  gentleman 
fumbled  in  an  inner  coat-pocket  and  brought  to  light 
a  small  black  leather  wallet.  He  seemed  to  be  on  the 
point  of  opening  it  when  hurried  footfalls  sounded 
in  the  hallway.  Brentwick  placed  the  wallet,  still  with 
its  secret  intact,  on  the  table  before  him,  as  Charles 
burst  unceremoniously  in,  leaving  the  door  wide  open. 

"  Mr.  Brentwick,  sir !  "  he  cried  gustily.  "  That 
other  car  —  " 


THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE  419 

With  a  smothered  ejaculation  Kirkwood  leaped  to 
his  feet,  tugging  at  the  weapon  in  his  pocket.  In 
another  instant  he  had  the  revolver  exposed.  The 
girl's  cry  of  alarm,  interrupting  the  machinist,  fixed 
Brentwick's  attention  on  the  young  man.  He,  too, 
stood  up,  reaching  over  very  quickly  to  clamp  strong 
supple  fingers  round  Kirkwood's  wrist,  while  with  the 
other  hand  he  laid  hold  of  the  revolver  and  by  a  single 
twist  wrenched  it  away. 

Kirkwood  turned  upon  him  in  fury.  "  So ! "  he 
cried,  shaking  with  passion.  "  This  is  what  your  hos- 
pitality meant !  You're  going  to  —  " 

"  My  dear  young  friend,"  interrupted  Brentwick 
with  a  flash  of  impatience,  "  remember  that  if  I  had 
designed  to  betray  you,  I  could  have  asked  no  better 
opportunity  than  when  you  were  my  guest  under  my 
own  roof." 

"  But  —  hang  it  all,  Brentwick !  "  expostulated 
Kirkwood,  ashamed  and  contrite,  but  worked  upon 
by  desperate  apprehension ;  "  I  didn't  mean  that, 
but  —  " 

"  Would  you  have  bullets  flying  when  she  is  near?  " 
demanded  Brentwick  scathingly.  Hastily  he  slipped 
the  revolver  upon  a  little  shelf  beneath  the  table-top. 
"  Sir ! "  he  informed  Kirkwood  with  some  heat,  "  I 
love  you  as  my  own  son,  but  you're  a  young  fool! 
.  as  I  have  been  in  my  time  .  .  .  and  as 
I  would  to  Heaven  I  might  be  again !  Be  advised, 


420  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Philip, —  be  calm.  Can't  you  see  it's  the  only,  way  to 
save  your  treasure?  " 

"Hang  the  jewels!"  retorted  Kirkwood  warmly. 
|«  What  — " 

"  Sir,  who  said  anything  about  the  jewels?  " 

As  Brentwick  spoke,  Calendar's  corpulent  figure 
filled  the  doorway ;  Stryker's  weather-worn  features 
loomed  over  his  shoulder,  distorted  in  a  cheerful  leer. 

"  As  to  the  jewels,"  announced  the  fat  adventurer, 
"  I've  got  a  word  to  say,  if  you  put  it  to  me  that 
way." 

He  paused  on  the  threshold,  partly  for  dramatic 
effect,  partly  for  his  own  satisfaction,  his  quick  eyes 
darting  from  face  to  face  of  the  four  people  whom 
he  had  caught  so  unexpectedly.  A  shade  of  compla- 
cency colored  his  expression,  and  he  smiled  evilly  be- 
neath the  coarse  short  thatch  of  his  gray  mustache. 
In  his  hand  a  revolver  appeared,  poised  for  immediate 
use  if  there  were  need. 

There  was  none.  Brentwick,  at  his  primal  appear- 
ance, had  dropped  a  peremptory  hand  on  Kirkwood's 

I 

'shoulder,  forcing  the  young  man  back  to  his  seat ;  at 
the  same  time  he  resumed  his  own.  The  girl  had  not 
stirred  from  hers  since  the  first  alarm ;  she  sat  as  if 
transfixed  with  terror,  leaning  forward  with  her 
elbows  on  the  table,  her  hands  tightly  clasped,  her 
face,  a  little  blanched,  turned  to  the  door.  But  her 
scarlet  lips  were  set  and  firm  with  inflexible  purpose, 


"  Good  evening,  all!  "  he  saluted  them  blandly.     Page  421 


THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE  421 

and  her  brown  eyes  met  Calendar's  with  a  look  level 
and  unflinching.  Beyond  this  she  gave  no  sign  of 
recognition. 

Nearest  of  the  four  to  the  adventurers  was  Charles, 
the  mechanician,  paused  in  affrighted  astonishment  at 
sight  of  the  revolver.  Calendar,  choosing  to  advance 
suddenly,  poked  the  muzzle  of  the  weapon  jocularly 
in  the  man's  ribs.  "  Beat  it,  Four-eyes !  "  he  snapped. 
"  This  is  your  cue  to  duck !  Get  out  of  my  way." 

The  mechanician  jumped  as  if  shot,  then  hastily, 
retreated  to  the  table,  his  sallow  features  working  be- 
neath the  goggle-mask  which  had  excited  the  fat 
adventurer's  scorn. 

"  Come  right  in,  Cap'n,"  Calendar  threw  over  one 
shoulder ;  "  come  in,  shut  the  door  and  lock  it.  Let's 
all  be  sociable,  and  have  a  nice  quiet  time." 

Stryker  obeyed,  with  a  derisive  grimace  for  Kirk- 
wood. 

Calendar,  advancing  jauntily  to  a  point  within  a 
yard  of  the  table,  stopped,  smiling  affably  down  upon 
his  prospective  victims,  and  airily  twirling  his  re- 
volver. 

"  Good  evening,  all ! "  he  saluted  them  blandly. 
"  Dorothy,  my  child,"  with  assumed  concern,  "  you're 
looking  a  trifle  upset ;  I'm  afraid  you've  been  keeping 
late  hours.  Little  girls  must  be  careful,  you  know, 
or  they  lose  the  bloom  of  roses  in  their  cheeks.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Kirkwood,  it's  a  pleasure  to  meet  you  again! 


422  THE  BLACK  BAG 

Permit  me  to  paraphrase  your  most  sound  advice,  and 
remind  you  that  pistol-shots  are  apt  to  attract  unde- 
sirable attention.  It  wouldn't  be  wise  for  you  to  bring 
the  police  about  our  ears.  I  believe  that  in  substance 
such  was  your  sapient  counsel  to  me  in  the  cabin  of 
the  Alethea;  was  it  not?  .  .  .  And  you,  sir!" 
—  fixing  Brentwick  with  a  cold  unfriendly  eye. 
"  You  animated  fossil,  what  d'you  mean  by  telling  me 
to  go  to  the  devil?  .  .  .  But  let  that  pass;  I 
hold  no  grudge.  What  might  your  name  be?  " 

"  It  might  be  Brentwick,"  said  that  gentleman 
placidly. 

"  Brentwick,  eh?  Well,  I  like  a  man  of  spirit. 
But  permit  me  to  advise  you  —  " 

"  Gladly,"  nodded  Brentwick. 

"  Eh  ?  Don't  come  a  second  time  between 

father  and  daughter;  another  man  might  not  be  as 
patient  as  I,  Mister  Brentwick.  There's  a  law  in  the 
land,  if  you  don't  happen  to  know  it." 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  your  success  in  evading 
it,"  observed  Brentwick,  undisturbed.  "  And  it  was 
,'considerate  of  you  not  to  employ  it  in  this  instance." 
Then,  with  a  sharp  change  of  tone,  "  Come,  sir ! "  he 
demanded.  "  You  have  unwarrantably  intruded  in 
this  room,  which  I  have  engaged  for  my  private  use. 
Get  through  with  your  business  and  be  off  with  you." 

"  All  in  my  good  time,  my  antediluvian  friend. 
When  I've  wound  up  my  business  here  I'll  go  —  not 


THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE 

before.  But,  just  to  oblige  you,  we'll  get  doAvn  to  it. 
.  Kirkwood,  you  have  a  revolver  of  mine.  Be 
good  enough  to  return  it." 

"  I  have  it  here, —  under  the  table,"  interrupted 
Brentwick  suavely.  "  Shall  I  hand  it  to  you?  " 

"  By  the  muzzle,  if  you  please.  Be  very  careful ; 
this  one's  loaded,  too  —  apt  to  explode  any  minute." 

To  Kirkwood's  intense  disgust  Brentwick  quietly 
slipped  one  hand  beneath  the  table  and,  placing  the 
revolver  on  its  top,  delicately  with  his  finger-tips 
shoved  it  toward  the  farther  edge.  With  a  grunt  of 
approval,  Calendar  swept  the  weapon  up  and  into 
his  pocket. 

"  Any  more  ordnance  ?  "  he  inquired  briskly,  eyes 
moving  alertly  from  face  to  face.  "  No  matter ;  you 
wouldn't  dare  use  'em  anyway.  And  I'm  about  done. 
Dorothy,  my  dear,  it's  high  time  you  returned  to  your 
father's  protection.  Where's  that  gladstone  bag?  " 

"  In  my  traveling  bag,"  the  girl  told  him  in  a 
toneless  voice. 

"  Then  you  may  bring  it  along.  You  may  also 
say  good  night  to  the  kind  gentlemen." 

Dorothy  did  not  move ;  her  pallor  grew  more  intense 
and  Kirkwood  saw  her  knuckles  tighten  beneath  the 
gloves.  Otherwise  her  mouth  seemed  to  grow  more 
straight  and  hard. 

"  Dorothy ! "  cried  the  adventurer  with  a  touch  of 
displeasure.  "  You  heard  me?  " 


424  THE  BLACK  BAG 

"  I  heard  you,"  she  replied  a  little  wearily,  more 
than  a  little  contemptuously.  "  Don't  mind  him, 
please,  Mr.  Kirkwood  !  " —  with  an  appealing  gesture, 
as  Kirkwood,  unable  to  contain  himself,  moved  rest- 
lessly in  his  chair,  threatening  to  rise.  "  Don't  say 
anything.  I  have  no  intention  whatever  of  going 
with  this  man." 

Calendar's  features  'twitched  nervously ;  he  chewed 
a  corner  of  his  mustache,  fixing  the  girl  with  a  black 
stare.  "  I  presume,"  he  remarked  after  a  moment, 
with  slow  deliberation,  "  you're  aware  that,  as  your 
father,  I  am  in  a  position  to  compel  you  to  accom- 
pany me." 

"  I  shall  not  go  with  you,"  iterated  Dorothy  in  a 
level  tone.  "  You  may  threaten  me,  but  —  I  shall  not 
go.  Mr.  Brentwick  and  Mr.  Kirkwood  are  taking  me 
to  —  friends,  who  will  give  me  a  home  until  I  can 
find  a  way  to  take  care  of  myself.  That  is  all  I  have 
to  say  to  you." 

"  Bravo,  my  dear ! "  cried  Brentwick  encourag- 
ingly. 

"  Mind  your  business,  sir ! "  thundered  Calendar, 
his  face  darkening.  Then,  to  Dorothy,  "  You  un- 
derstand, I  trust,  what  this  means  ?  "  he  demanded. 
"  I  offer  you  a  home  —  and  a  good  one.  Refuse,  and 
you  work  for  your  living,  my  girl !  You've  forfeited 
your  legacy  —  " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  told  him  in  cold  disdain. 


THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE  425 

"  I  am  content.     Won't  you  be  kind  enough  to  leave 
me  alone?  " 

For  a  breath,  Calendar  glowered  over  her;  then, 
"  I  presume,"  he  observed,  "  that  all  these  heroics 
are  inspired  by  that  whipper-snapper,  Kirkwood.  Do 
you  know  that  he  hasn't  a  brass  farthing  to  bless 
himself  with?  " 

"  What  has  that  —  ?  "  cried  the  girl  indignantly. 
"  Why,  it  has  everything  to  do  with  me,  my  child. 
As  your  doting  parent,  I  can't  consent  to  your  mar- 
rying nothing-a-year.     .     .     .     For  I  surmise  you 
intend  to  marry  this  Mr.  Kirkwood,  don't  you?  " 

There  followed  a  little  interval  of  silence,  while  the 
warm  blood  flamed  in  the  girl's  face  and  the  red  lips 
trembled  as  she  faced  her  tormentor.  Then,  with  a 
quaver  that  escaped  her  control,  "  If  Mr.  Kirkwood 
asks  me,  I  shall,"  she  stated  very  simply. 

"  That,"  interposed  Kirkwood,  "  is  completely  un- 
derstood." His  gaze  sought  her  eyes,  but  she  looked 
away. 

"  You  forget  that  I  am  your  father,"  sneered  Cal- 
endar ;  "  and  that  you  are  a  minor.  I  can  refuse 
my  consent." 

"  But  you  won't,"  Kirkwood  told  him  with  assur- 
ance. 

The  adventurer  stared.  "  No,"  he  agreed,  after 
slight  hesitation ;  "  no,  I  shan't  interfere.  Take  her, 
my  boy,  if  you  want  her  —  and  a  father's  blessing 


426  THE  BLACK  BAG 

into  the  bargain.  The  Lord  knows  I've  troubles 
enough;  a  parent's  lot  is  not  what  it's  cracked  up 
to  be."  He  paused,  leering,  ironic.  "  But,"  —  de- 
liberately, "  there's  still  this  other  matter  of  the 
gladstone  bag.  I  don't  mind  abandoning  my  parental 
authority,  when  my  child's  happiness  is  concerned, 
but  as  for  my  property  —  " 

"  It  is  not  your  property,"  interrupted  the  girl. 

"  It  was  your  mother's,  dear  child.    It's  now  mine." 

"  I  dispute  that  assertion,"  Kirkwood  put  in. 

"  You  may  dispute  it  till  the  cows  come  home,  my 
boy:  the  fact  will  remain,  that  I  intend  to  take  my 
property  with  me  when  I  leave  this  room,  whether 
you  like  it  or  not.  Now  are  you  disposed  to  continue 
the  argument,  or  may  I  count  on  your  being  sen- 
sible? " 

"  You  may  put  away  your  revolver,  if  that's  what 
you  mean,"  said  Kirkwood.  "  We  certainly  shan't 
oppose  you  with  violence,  but  I  warn  you  that  Scot- 
land Yard— " 

"  Oh,  that  be  blowed ! "  the  adventurer  snorted  in 
disgust.  "  I  can  sail  circles  round  any  tec.  that  ever 
blew  out  of  Scotland  Yard !  Give  me  an  hour's  start, 
and  you're  free  to  do  all  the  funny  business  you've 
a  mind  to,  with  —  Scotland  Yard !  " 

"  Then  you  admit,"  queried  Brentwick  civilly, 
"  that  you've  no  legal  title  to  the  jewels  in  dispute?  " 

"  Look    here,     my    friend,"    chuckled     Calendar, 


THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE  427 

"  when  you  catch  me  admitting  anything,  you  write 
it  down  in  your  little  book  and  tell  the  bobby  on  the 
corner.  Just  at  present  I've  got  other  business  than 
to  stand  round  admitting  anything  about  anything. 
.  .  Cap'n,  let's  have  that  bag  of  my  dutiful 
daughter's." 

"  'Ere  you  are."  Stryker  spoke  for  the  first  time 
since  entering  the  room,  taking  the  valise  from  be- 
neath the  chair  and  depositing  it  on  the  table. 

"  Well,  we  shan't  take  anything  that  doesn't  be- 
long to  us,"  laughed  Calendar,  fumbling  with  the 
catch ;  "  not  even  so  small  a  matter  as  my  own  child's 
traveling  bag.  A  small  —  heavy  —  gladstone  bag," 
he  grunted,  opening  the  valise  and  plunging  in  one 
greedy  hand,  "  will  —  just  —  about  —  do  for  mine !  " 
With  which  he  produced  the  article  mentioned. 
"  This  for  the  discard,  Cap'n,"  he  laughed  content- 
edly, pushing  the  girl's  valise  aside;  and,  rumbling 
with  stentorian  mirth,  stood  beaming  benignantly 
over  the  assembled  company. 

"  Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "  this  moment  is  worth  all 
it  cost  me !  My  children,  I  forgive  you  freely.  Mr. 
Kirkwood,  I  felicitate  you  cordially  on  having  secured 
a  most  expensive  wife.  Really  —  d'you  know? — I 
feel  as  if  I  ought  to  do  a  little  something  for  you 
both."  Gurgling  with  delight  he  smote  his  fat  palms 
together.  "  I  just  tell  you  what,"  he  resumed,  "  no 
one  yet  ever  called  Georgie  Calendar  a  tight-wad.  I 


428  THE  BLACK  BAG 

just  believe  I'm  going  to  make  you  kids  a  handsome 
wedding  present.  .  .  .  The  good  Lord  knows 
there's  enough  of  this  for  a  fellow  to  be  a  little  gen- 
erous and  never  miss  it !  " 

The  thick  mottled  fingers  tore  nervously  at  the 
catch ;  eventually  he  got  the  bag  open.  Those  about 
the  table  bent  forward,  all  quickened  by  the  prospect 
of  for  the  first  time  beholding  the  treasure  over  which 
they  had  fought,  for  which  they  had  suffered,  so 
long.  .  .  . 

A  heady  and  luscious  fragrance  pervaded  the  at- 
mosphere, exhaling  from  the  open  mouth  of  the  bag. 
A  silence,  indefinitely  sustained,  impressed  itself  upon 
the  little  audience, —  a  breathless  pause  ended  even- 
tually by  a  sharp  snap  of  Calendar's  teeth.  "Mmm!" 
grunted  the  adventurer  in  bewilderment.  He  began 
to  pant. 

Abruptly  his  heavy  hands  delved  into  the  contents 
of  the  bag,  like  the  paws  of  a  terrier  digging  in 
earth.  To  Kirkwood  the  air  seemed  temporarily 
thick  with  flying  objects.  Beneath  his  astonished 
eyes  a  towel  fell  upon  the  table  —  a  crumpled,  soiled 
towel,  bearing  on  its  dingy  hem  the  inscription  in 
indelible  ink :  "Hotel  du  Commerce,  Anvers. "  A 
tooth-mug  of  substantial  earthenware  dropped  to  the 
floor  with  a  crash.  A  slimy  soap-dish  of  the  same 
manufacture  slid  across  the  table  and  into  Brent- 
wick's  lap.  A  battered  alarm  clock  with  never  a  tick 


THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE  429 

left  in  its  abused  carcass  rang  vacuously  as  it  fell  by 
the  open  bag.  .  .  .  The  remainder  was  —  or- 
anges: a  dozen  or  more  small,  round,  golden  globes 
of  ripe  fruit,  perhaps  a  shade  overripe,  therefore  the 
more  aromatic. 

The  adventurer  ripped  out  an  oath.  "  Mulready, 
by  the  living  God ! "  he  raged  in  fury.  "  Done  up, 
I  swear !  Done  by  that  infernal  sneak  —  me,  blind  as 
ab'at!" 

He  fell  suddenly  silent,  the  blood  congesting  in  his 
face;  as  suddenly  broke  forth  again,  haranguing  the 
company. 

"  That's  why  he  went  out  and  bought  those  damned 
oranges,  is  it?  Think  of  it  —  me  sitting  in  the  hotel 
in  Antwerp  and  him  lugging  in  oranges  by  the  bag- 
ful because  he  was  fond  of  fruit !  When  did  he  do 
it?  How  do  I  know?  If  I  knew,  would  I  be  here 
and  him  the  devil  knows  where,  this  minute?  When 
my  back  was  turned,  of  course,  the  damned  snake'. 
That's  why  he  was  so  hot  about  picking  a  fight  on 
the  boat,  hey?  Wanted  to  get  thrown  off  and  take 
to  the  woods  —  leaving  me  with  this!  And  that's 
why  he  felt  so  awful'  done  up  he  wouldn't  take  a  hand 
at  hunting  you  two  down,  hey  ?  Well  —  by  —  the 
—  Eternal !  I'll  camp  on  his  trail  for  the  rest  of  his 
natural-born  days!  I'll  have  his  eye-teeth  for  this, 
I'll—" 

He  swayed,  gibbering  with  rage,  his  countenance 


430  THE  BLACK  BAG 

frightfully  contorted,  his  fat  hands  shaking  as  he 
struggled  for  expression. 

And  then,  while  yet  their  own  astonishment  held 
Dorothy,  Kirkwood,  Brentwick  and  Stryker  speech- 
less, Charles,  the  mechanician,  moved  suddenly  upon 
the  adventurer. 

There  followed  two  metallic  clicks.  Calendar's 
ravings  were  abrupted  as  if  his  tongue  had  been  par- 
alyzed. He  fell  back  a  pace,  flabby  jowls  pale  and 
shaking,  ponderous  jaw  dropping  on  his  breast, 
mouth  wide  and  eyes  crazed  as  he  shook  violently 
before  him  his  thick  fleshy  wrists  —  securely  hand- 
cuffed. 

Simultaneously  the  mechanician  whirled  about, 
bounded  eagerly  across  the  floor,  and  caught  Stryker 
at  the  door,  his  dexterous  fingers  twisting  in  the 
captain's  collar  as  he  jerked  him  back  and  tripped 
him. 

"  Mr.  Kirkwood !  "  he  cried.  "  Here,  please  — • 
one  moment.  Take  this  man's  gun  from  him,  will 
you?" 

Kirkwood  sprang  to  his  assistance,  and  without  en- 
countering much  trouble,  succeeded  in  wresting  a 
Webley  from  Stryker's  limp,  flaccid  fingers. 

Roughly  the  mechanician  shook  the  man,  dragging 
him  to  his  feet.  "  Now,"  he  ordered  sternly,  "  you 
march  to  that  corner,  stick  your  nose  in  it,  and  be 
good!  You  can't  get  away  if  you  try.  I've  got 


THE  CROWN  AND  MITRE  431 

other  men  outside,  waiting  for  you  to  come  out.  Un- 
derstand? " 

Trembling  like  a  whipped  cur,  Stryker  meekly, 
obeyed  his  instructions  to  the  letter. 

The  mechanician,  with  a  contemptuous  laugh  leav- 
ing him,  strode  back  to  Calendar,  meanwhile  whipping 
off  his  goggles ;  and  clapped  a  hearty  hand  upon  the 
adventurer's  quaking  shoulders. 

"  Well ! "  he  cried.  "  And  are  you  still  sailing 
circles  round  the  men  from  Scotland  Yard,  Simmons, 
or  Bellows,  or  Sanderson,  or  Calendar,  or  Crumbstone, 
or  whatever  name  you  prefer  to  sail  under  ?  " 

Calendar  glared  at  him  aghast;  then  heaved  a 
profound  sigh,  shrugged  his  fat  shoulders,  and  bent 
his  head  in  thought.  An  instant  later  he  looked  up. 
"  You  can't  do  it,"  he  informed  the  detective 
vehemently ;  "  you  haven't  got  a  shred  of  evidence 
against  me!  What's  there?  A  pile  of  oranges  and 
a  peck  of  trash!  What  of  it?  .••  •  .  .  Besides," 
he  threatened,  "  if  you  pinch  me,  you'll  have  to  take 
the  girl  in,  too.  I  swear  that  whatever  stealing  was 
done,  she  did  it.  I'll  not  be  trapped  this  way  by 
her  and  let  her  off  without  a  squeal.  Take  me  —  take 
her;  d'you  hear?  " 

"  I  think,"  put  in  the  clear,  bland  accents  of  Brent- 
wick,  "  we  can  consider  that  matter  settled.  I  have 
here,  my  man," —  nodding  to  the  adventurer  as  he 
took  up  the  black  leather  wallet, — "  I  have  here  a 


432  THE  BLACK  BAG 

little  matter  which  may  clear  up  any  lingering  doubts 
as  to  your  standing,  which  you  may  be  disposed  at 
present  to  entertain." 

He  extracted  a  slip  of  cardboard  and,  at  arm's 
length,  laid  it  on  the  table-edge  beneath  the  adven- 
turer's eyes.  The  latter,  bewildered,  bent  over  it  for 
a  moment,  breathing  heavily ;  then  straightened  back, 
shook  himself,  laughed  shortly  with  a  mirthless  note, 
and  faced  the  detective. 

"  It's  come  with  you  now,  I  guess  ?  "  he  suggested 
very  quietly. 

"  The  Bannister  warrant  is  still  out  for  you,"  re- 
turned the  man.  "  That'll  be  enough  to  hold  you  on 
till  extradition  papers  arrive  from  the  States." 

"  Oh,  I'll  waive  those ;  and  I  won't  give  you  any 
trouble,  either.  ...  I  reckon,"  mused  the  ad- 
venturer, jingling  his  manacles  thoughtfully,  "  I'm  a 
back-number,  anyway.  When  a  half-grown  girl,  a 
half-baked  boy,  a  flub  like  Mulready  —  damn  his 
eyes  !  —  and  a  club-footed  snipe  from  Scotland  Yard 
can  put  it  all  over  me  this  way,  .  .  .  why,  I 
guess  it's  up  to  me  to  go  home  and  retire  to  my  coun- 
try-place up  the  Hudson."  He  sighed  wearily. 
"  Yep ;  time  to  cut  it  out.  But  I  would  like  to  be 
free  long  enough  to  get  in  one  good  lick  at  that  mutt, 
Mulready.  My  friend,  you  get  your  hands  on  him, 
and  I'll  squeal  on  him  till  I'm  blue  in  the  face. 
That's  a  promise." 


JOURNEY'S  END  433 

"  You'll  have  the  chance  before  long,"  replied  the 
detective.  "  We  received  a  telegram  from  the  Am- 
sterdam police  late  this  afternoon,  saying  they'd 
picked  up  Mr.  Mulready  with  a  woman  named  Hal- 
lam,  and  were  holding  them  on  suspicion.  It  seems," 
—  turning  to  Brentwick, — "  they  were  opening  nego- 
tiations for  the  sale  of  a  lot  of  stones,  and  seemed  in 
such  a  precious  hurry  that  the  diamond  merchant's 
suspicions  were  roused.  We're  sending  over  for  them, 
Miss  Calendar,  so  you  can  make  your  mind  easy  about 
your  jewels ;  you'll  have  them  back  in  a  few  days." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  girl  with  an  effort. 

"  Well,"  the  adventurer  delivered  his  peroration, 
"  I  certainly  am  blame'  glad  to  hear  it.  'Twouldn't 
've  been  a  square  deal,  any  other  way." 

He  paused,  looking  his  erstwhile  dupes  over  with 
a  melancholy  eye;  then,  with  an  uncertain  nod  com- 
prehending the  girl,  Kirkwood  and  Brentwick,  "  So 
long !  "  he  said  thickly ;  and  turned,  with  the  detec- 
tive's hand  under  his  arm  and,  accompanied  by  the 
thoroughly  cowed  Stryker,  waddled  out  of  the  room. 

in  —  JOURNEY'S  END 

Kirkwood,  following  the  exodus,  closed  the  door 
with  elaborate  care  and  slowly,  deep  in  thought,  re- 
turned to  the  table. 

Dorothy  seemed  not  to  have  moved,  save  to  place 


THE  BLACK  BAG 

her  elbows  on  the  marble  slab,  and  rest  her  cheeks 
between  hands  that  remained  clenched,  as  they  had 
been  in  the  greatest  stress  of  her  emotion.  The  color 
had  returned  to  her  face,  with  a  slightly  enhanced 
depth  of  hue  to  the  credit  of  her  excitement.  Her 
cheeks  were  hot,  her  eyes  starlike  beneath  the  woven, 
massy  sunlight  of  her  hair.  Temporarily  unconscious 
of  her  surroundings  she  stared  steadfastly  before  her, 
thoughts  astray  in  the  irridescent  glamour  of  the 
dreams  that  were  to  come. 

Brentwick  had  slipped  down  in  his  chair,  resting  his 
silvered  head  upon  its  back,  and  was  smiling  serenely 
up  at  the  low  yellow  ceiling.  Before  him  on  the 
table  his  long  white  fingers  were  drumming  an  in- 
audible tune.  Presently  rousing,  he  caught  Kirk- 
wood's  eye  and  smiled  sheepishly,  like  a  child  caught 
in  innocent  mischief. 

The  younger  man  grinned  broadly.  "  And  you 
were  responsible  for  all  that ! "  he  commented,  in- 
finitely amused. 

Brentwick  nodded,  twinkling  self-satisfaction.  "  I 
contrived  it  all,"  he  said ;  "  neat,  I  call  it,  too."  His 
old  eyes  brightened  with  reminiscent  enjoyment. 
"  Inspiration ! "  he  crowed  softly.  "  Inspiration, 
pure  and  simple.  I'd  been  worrying  my  wits  for  fully 
five  minutes  before  Wotton  settled  the  matter  by  tell- 
ing me  about  the  captain's  hiring  of  the  motor-car. 
Then,  in  a  flash,  I  had  it.  ...  I  talked  with 


JOURNEY'S  END  435 

Charles  by  telephone, —  his  name  is  really  Charles,  by 
the  bye, —  overcame  his  conscientious  scruples  about 
playing  his  fish  when  they  were  already  all  but  landed, 
and  settled  the  artistic  details." 

He  chuckled  delightedly.  "  It's  the  instinct,"  he 
declared  emphatically,  "  the  instinct  for  adventure. 
I  knew  it  was  in  me,  latent  somewhere,  but  never  till 
this  day  did  it  get  the  opportunity  to  assert  itself. 
A  born  adventurer  —  that's  what  I  am!  .  .  . 
You  see,  it  was  essential  that  they  should  believe  we 
were  frightened  and  running  from  them;  that  way, 
they  would  be  sure  to  run  after  us.  Why,  we  might 
have  baited  a  dozen  traps  and  failed  to  lure  them 
into  my  house,  after  that  stout  scoundrel  knew  you'd 
had  the  chance  to  tell  me  the  whole  yarn.  .  .  . 
Odd ! " 

"  Weren't  you  taking  chances,  you  and  Charles  ?  " 
asked  Kirkwood  curiously. 

"  Precious  few.  There  was  another  motor  from 
Scotland  Yard  trailing  Captain  Stryker's.  If  they 
had  run  past,  or  turned  aside,  they  would  have  been 
overhauled  in  short  order." 

He  relapsed  into  his  whimsical  reverie ;  the  wistful 
look  returned  to  his  eyes,  replacing  the  glow  of  tri- 
umph and  pleasure.  And  he  sighed  a  little  regret- 
fully. 

"  What  I  don't  understand,"  contended  Kirkwood, 
**  is  how  you  convinced  Calendar  that  he  couldn't  get 


436 

revenge  by  pressing1  his  charge  against  Miss  Cal- 
endar —  Dorothy." 

"  Oh-h  ?  "  Mr.  Brentwick  elevated  his  fine  white 
eyebrows  and  sat  up  briskly.  "  My  dear  boy,  that 
was  the  most  delectable  dish  on  the  entire  menu.  I 
have  been  reserving  it,  I  don't  mind  owning,  that 
I  might  better  enjoy  the  full  relish  of  it.  .  .  .  I 
may  answer  you  best,  perhaps,  by  asking  you  to  scan 
what  I  offered  to  the  fat  scoundrel's  respectful  con- 
sideration, my  dear  sir." 

He  leveled  a  forefinger  at  the  card. 

At  first  glance  it  conveyed  nothing  to  the  younger 
man's  benighted  intelligence.  He  puzzled  over  it, 
twisting  his  brows  out  of  alignment.  An  ordinary 
sblong  slip  of  thin  white  cardboard,  it  was  engraved 
in  fine  script  as  follows: 


MR.   GEORGE  BURGOYNE  CALENDAR 


81,  ASPEN  VILLAS,  S.  W. 


"  Oh !  "   exclaimed  Kirkwood  at  length,   standing 
up,  his  face  bright  with  understanding.     "  You  — /  " 


JOURNEY'S  END  437 

"  I,"  laconically  assented  the  elder  man. 

Impulsively  Kirkwood  leaned  across  the  table. 
"  Dorothy,"  he  said  tenderly ;  and  when  the  girl's 
happy  eyes  met  his,  quietly  drew  her  attention  to  the 
card. 

Then  he  rose  hastily,  and  went  over  to  stand  by 
the  window,  staring  mistily  into  the  blank  face  of 
night  beyond  its  unseen  panes. 

Behind  him  there  was  a  confusion  of  little  noises; 
the  sound  of  a  chair  pushed  hurriedly  aside,  a  rustle 
of  skirts,  a  happy  sob  or  two,  low  voices  intermin- 
gling; sighs.  .  .  .  Out  of  it  finally  came  the 
father's  accents. 

"  There,  there,  my  dear !  My  dearest  dear !  "  pro- 
tested the  old  gentleman.  "  Positively  I  don't  deserve 
a  tithe  of  this.  I  — "  The  young  old  voice  quav- 
ered and  broke,  in  a  happy  laugh.  ..."  You 
must  understand,"  he  continued  more  soberly,  "  that 
no  consideration  of  any  sort  is  due  me. 
When  we  married,  I  was  too  old  for  your  mother, 
child ;  we  both  knew  it,  both  believed  it  would  never 
matter.  But  it  did.  By  her  wish,  I  went  back  to 
America;  we  were  to  see  what  separation  would  do 
to  heal  the  wounds  dissension  had  caused.  It  was 
a  very  foolish  experiment.  Your  mother  died  before 
I  could  return.  .  .  ." 

There  fell  a  silence,  again  broken  by  the  father. 
08  After  that  I  was  in  no  haste  to  return.  But  some 


438 

years  ago,  I  came  to  London  to  live.  I  communicated 
with  the  old  colonel,  asking  permission  to  see  you.  It 
was  refused  in  a  manner  which  precluded  the  subject 
being  reopened  by  me:  I  was  informed  that  if  I 
persisted  in  attempting  to  see  you,  you  would  be  dis- 
inherited. .  .  .  He  was  very  angry  with  me  — 
justly,  I  admit.  .  .  .  One  must  grow  old  before 
one  can  see  how  unforgivably  one  was  wrong  in  youth. 
.  .  .  So  I  settled  down  to  a  quiet  old  age,  deter- 
mined not  to  disturb  you  in  your  happiness. 
Ah  —  Kirkwood !  " 

The  old  gentleman  was  standing,  his  arm  around 
his  daughter's  shoulders,  when  Kirkwood  turned. 

"  Come  here,  Philip ;  I'm  explaining  to  Dorothy, 
but  you  should  hear.  .  .  .  The  evening  I  called 
on  you,  dear  boy,  at  the  Pless,  returning  home  I  re- 
ceived a  message  from  my  solicitors,  whom  I  had  in- 
structed to  keep  an  eye  on  Dorothy's  welfare.  They 
informed  me  that  she  had  disappeared.  Naturally 
I  canceled  my  plans  to  go  to  Munich,  and  stayed, 
employing  detectives.  One  of  the  first  things  they 
discovered  was  that  Dorothy  had  run  off  with  an 
elderly  person  calling  himself  George  Burgoyne  Cal- 
endar —  the  name  I  had  discarded  when  I  found  that 
to  acknowledge  me  would  imperil  my  daughter's  for- 
tune. .  .  .  The  investigations  went  deeper; 
Charles  —  let  us  continue  to  call  him  —  had  been  to 
see  me  only  this  afternoon,  to  inform  me  of  the  plot 


JOURNEY'S  END  439 

they  had  discovered.  This  Hallam  woman  and  her 
son  —  it  seems  that  they  were  legitimately  in  the  line 
of  inheritance,  Dorothy  out  of  the  way.  But  the 
woman  was  —  ah  —  a  bad  lot.  Somehow  she  got  into 
communication  with  this  fat  rogue  and  together  they 
plotted  it  out.  Charles  doesn't  believe  that  the  Hal- 
lam  woman  expected  to  enjoy  the  Burgoyne  estates 
for  very  many  days.  Her  plan  was  to  step  in  when 
Dorothy  stepped  out,  gather  up  what  she  could,  real- 
ize on  it,  and  decamp.  That  is  why  there  was  so 
much  excitement  about  the  jewels:  naturally  the  most 
valuable  item  on  her  list,  the  most  easy  to  convert  into 
cash.  .  .  .  The  man  Mulready  we  do  not  place ; 
he  seems  to  have  been  a  shady  character  the  fat  rogue 
picked  up  somewhere.  The  latter's  ordinary  line  of 
business  was  diamond  smuggling,  though  he  would 
condescend  to  almost  anything  in  order  to  turn  a  dis- 
honest penny. 

"  That  seems  to  exhaust  the  subject.  But  one 
word  more.  .  .  .  Dorothy,  I  am  old  enough  and 
have  suffered  enough  to  know  the  wisdom  of  seizing 
one's  happiness  when  one  may.  My  dear,  a  little 
while  ago,  you  did  a  very  brave  deed.  Under  fire 
you  said  a  most  courageous,  womanly,  creditable 
thing.  And  Philip's  rejoinder  was  only  second  in 
nobility  to  yours.  ...  I  do  hope  to  goodness 
that  you  two  blessed  youngsters  won't  let  any  addle- 
pated  scruples  stand  between  yourselves  and  —  the 


440  THE  BLACK  BAG 

prize    of   Romance,    your   inalienable    inheritance ! " 

Abruptly  Brentwick,  who  was  no  longer  Brentwick, 
but  the  actual  Calendar,  released  the  girl  from  his 
embrace  and  hopped  nimbly  toward  the  door. 
"  Really,  I  must  see  about  that  petrol ! "  he  cried. 
"  While  it's  perfectly  true  that  Charles  lied  about  it's 
running  out,  we  must  be  getting  on.  I'll  call  you 
whea  we're  ready  to  start." 

And  the  door  crashed  to  behind  him. 

Between  them  was  the  table.  Beyond  it  the  girl 
stood  with  head  erect,  dim  tears  glimmering  on  the 
lashes  of  those  eyes  with  which  she  met  Philip's  steady 
gaze  so  fearlessly. 

Singing  about  them,  the  silence  deepened.  Fas- 
cinated, though  his  heart  was  faint  with  longing, 
Kirkwood  faltered  on  the  threshold  of  his  kingdom. 

"  Dorothy !     .     .     .     You  did  mean  it,  dear  ?  " 

She  laughed,  a  little,  low,  sobbing  laugh  that  had 
its  source  deep  in  the  hidden  sanctuary  of  her  heart 
of  a  child. 

"  I  meant  it,  my  dearest.  ...  If  you'll  have 
a  girl  so  bold  and  forward,  who  can't  wait  till  she's 
asked  but  throws  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  man 
she  loves  —  Philip,  I  meant  it,  every  word !  .  .  ." 

And  as  he  went  to  her  swiftly,  round  the  table,  she 
turned  to  meet  him,  arms  uplifted,  her  scarlet  lips 
a-tremble,  the  brown  and  bewitching  lashes  drooping 
over  her  wondrously  lighted  eyes.  .  .  . 


JOURNEY'S  END  441 

After  a  time  Philip  Kirkwood  laughed  aloud. 

And  there  was  that  quality  in  the  ring  of  his 
laughter  that  caused  the  Shade  of  Care,  which  had  for 
the  past  ten  minutes  been  uneasily  luffing  and  filling 
in  the  offing  and,  on  the  whole,  steadily  diminishing 
and  becoming  more  pale  and  wan  and  emaciated  and 
indistinct  —  there  was  that  in  the  laughter  of  Philip 
Kirkwood,  I  say,  which  caused  the  Shade  of  Care  to 
utter  a  hollow  croak  of  despair  as,  incontinently,  it 
vanished  out  of  his  life. 


A"'"  ill  II  Kin  Din  mil  j 
000  046  439 


